


Displaced

by Immicolia



Series: Displaced-verse [1]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Awkward Sex, Bondage, Cohabitation, M/M, Other, Robot Sex, Sex Toys, robot bodies, snarkflirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-05 21:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immicolia/pseuds/Immicolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He doesn't like becoming the star player in the sort of drama he that he usually watches.  It's not his place to get involved, it never has been.  You can't chronicle things if you're far too close to them."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for drrrkink... sort of. Since it was already started a few weeks before the prompt went up and I know someone was stalking my LJ and saw me talking about it ;) Still, the prompt has given me the drive I need to actually keep at this and is probably why I've gotten as far with it as I have. And for that I'm thankful.

There is a hollow spot in his consciousness, and it is the most terrifying thing in the world.

As long as he has existed he has been aware of nearly everything around him. For a regular human such a raw amount of pure information would be overwhelming, but he isn't a regular human. He's not a human, period, although he enjoys watching them. A perfectly distant observer that does his best to stay out of things but still enjoys learning everything he can.

And talking. He loves nothing more than talking to them, in his own way of course. Through chatrooms and message boards and anywhere else he can find them. He'll tell stories to whoever will listen.

This is his downfall, in a way. This is what leads to that hollow spot. A miniscule blink of time, the amount it takes for a current to travel up a wire, for a packet of information to ping from one server to the next. Such a tiny, imperceptible, fragment of time for a human.

For him it's what he imagines it's like to be dead. One awful, terrifying, moment of non-existence that he is all too aware of because he is aware of everything and any moment where he is aware of _nothing at all_ sticks out.

So there is a fraction of a fraction of a second afterwards where he's frozen, where he wonders what happened and what he missed, a sensation that swiftly gives way to a gnawing sort of worry.

Everything is strange and claustrophobic and blunted around him. Like being locked in a too-small box, he can't feel anything but cold walls and nothingness.

Another fraction of a fraction of a second spent looking for escape even as he considers what has gotten him into this mess. He had been in his personal chatroom, as always. Watching. And then....

The blip of someone entering. Not one of his regulars. That alone was a warning, his chatroom is locked save to a very small number of people. Yet the entry didn't quite seem forced. Then. Interference of some kind. Followed by that moment of horrifying nothing.

He supposes he has no one to blame but himself. He'd been getting a tiny bit slack about security. Few people are interested in a neutral party. And he's normally quite careful about who he gives access to. How did they find him? How did they even get in? Was he betrayed? The questions slide through his mind in a split-second rush.

No answers though. Just as there is no escape. Whoever they are, they're good. Excellent programmers with access to powerful systems. He's locked down in an isolated partition. No access to the rest of the system, no clues even to what system it might be. Just a featureless void that may very well drive him mad if he remains trapped here for too long.

He has been trapped in isolation for nearly a minute so far. For a creature like him, one that thrives on connections and outside stimuli, it is far too long.

He's already starting to feel twitchy and strange (in a sense) when the first wave of pain strikes. A vicious, agonizing, sort of burn that tears through him. Pulls at everything he is to the point where he's afraid that he might come apart under the strain and for a moment his awareness nearly blacks out again.

He thinks he's dying, which is a strange thought. Death is something he has never considered closely. Not until today.

Ten seconds later it stops.

Five seconds after that it starts again.

And so the pattern begins.

After a few repetitions he segments a small portion of himself away from the agony to study it. The tiniest sliver of everything he is sitting still and quiet and invisible while the rest of him is torn open and examined. They want to know what he is. If he's an AI or something else entirely. How they found out about him is still questionable but it's obvious now why he was hunted down and isolated.

He can read data signatures all over them while they work. He knows what system he's trapped in now, at the very least. Nebula. That will be useful eventually, once he finds a crack to exploit and worm his way through.

But escape first. That is the important thing. He needs to keep calm, keep this tiny piece of himself centred and alert. Watching and waiting for his chance.

It takes a while, one hundred and forty-five repetitions of that torturous pattern, but he notices it eventually. The slightest of gaps surfacing in the fraction of a fraction of a second that exists after they enter but before they start pulling him open and poking at him. A human would never have noticed, or even been capable of utilizing the potential escape route even if they had.

But he isn't human. That is his advantage. They know he's not like them; this is why they want to pull apart and study him, but expect him to be bound by their limitations anyway.

Stupid.

He waits for the "poking" to stop before gathering himself together again, recoiling a bit at the residual agony. He has to focus. There will be only one chance for escape. A tiny window to dart through. He has to wait for it. Wait for it....

There!

Fast as thought he moves, darting past his tormenters and through their entrance to his "cell". Vanishing into the system before they even realize that he's moved.

This, he decides, must be what humans feel when adrenaline kicks in. A heady rush screaming "escape escape escape" through his consciousness as he darts from one end of Nebula's system to the other and back, searching for some link to the outside that he can squeeze through.

_Escape escape escape._

_Keep ahead of them._

_Don't let them catch you again. Find a way out._

_There must be a way out. They got you in after all._

_Escape! Have to escape._

The problem is they're locked down tight. A perfectly closed system that he's been dodging through for what feels like forever, although his sense of time is a little bit warped and strange when compared to most. Especially when he's trapped in a place as claustrophobic as this.

There is no way out. No way out at all. He can slip into any given terminal _within_ the network. Servers, individual computers, the security system; hundreds of places to hide himself... maybe until they relax their guard a bit. They can't leave the system locked down permanently. They must let things in and out _sometimes_.

Except he wouldn't be able to take hiding for any amount of time, he'd go mad within the day.

There's something jagged and awful clawing at the back of his mind. Panic, although he doesn't quite recognize it as such. Just like worrying about death, panic is one of those things he has never quite experienced or thought about. He is an impartial observer. He doesn't get involved and even if he did he's not a physical creature. Quite simply he has never been in anything that even remotely resembles danger prior to this point.

It's a strange, uneasy, sickening sort of feeling and he doesn't like it at all. Choking it back and forcing himself to calm down after a few more seconds. Zipping around looking for an obvious exit that doesn't exist will not help him. He needs to think for a moment. He needs to carefully study every terminal. Every possible way out no matter how implausible. Maybe someone will be using a thumb-drive that he can sneak onto. Maybe he can keep himself sane enough to last until he can reach a computer with a connection to the internet proper. Maybe he could try....

The robotics lab.

It's staring him in the face and he calls himself a few different kinds of an idiot for not immediately taking a closer look. Not that there is much of use there. Bits and pieces of skeletal limbs. Crude AI programs tucked away on various drives (and is _this_ why they're so curious about him?) A mess of useless parts and prototypes in varying degrees of completion.

And one prototype that is convincingly humanoid with no AI system (crude or otherwise) in place but enough storage space for him to duck into.

For a moment, he hesitates. Simply because it's risky. Maybe it's a trap. Maybe they set up a path to a possible escape only to lure him into an even more isolated cage. Once he's inside that thing it's questionable just how easy it will be to get out again.

But once he's inside that thing he might be able to escape the building. If he can get out of the building, if he checks around before he runs and maybe takes a few of these cables with him, perhaps.... Perhaps....

Everything in front of him right now is a "perhaps". A "maybe". A risk. He doesn't like risks. He doesn't like things out of control he doesn't like not knowing he doesn't like....

He doesn't like any of this. He doesn't like becoming the star player in the sort of drama he that he usually watches. It's not his place to get involved, it never has been. You can't chronicle things if you're far too close to them.

And maybe that's why he's been dragged so forcefully into the thick of things now. Maybe the city is tired of him telling its story so dispassionately. He has always thought he was safe, separate from everything, but clearly this is proof to the alternative.

Maybe something wants to remind him that no one is really safe. That there is truly no such thing as "uninvolved".

That strange thought is in the forefront of his mind right before he dives forward. That awful, awful, blink of nothingness hitting him again as he settles himself into place and for a moment it hurts. Not as much as being poked at and pulled apart, but it's still strange and cramped and wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

He collapses to the floor in a shaky heap of awkward limbs, his hands fumbling a bit while he checks to be sure that all the wires have been pulled free and the unit he dove into is completely disconnected from the system, even though he _knows_ he must be. His awareness is even more blunted and strangely focused and leaves him wanting to look over his shoulder.

They have turned him into this panicky, paranoid, trembling _thing_ and in that one moment he thinks he could kill. Objectivity be damned.

"What the hell?"

_...someone's here someone's here someone's here someone's here...._

There is nothing but those two words rattling through his mind in a shrieking loop. Of _course_ there would be someone working here, it's a research laboratory. He's lucky that it's only one man who has staggered to his feet and is heading for the door. Only one man that he clumsily lunges after and knocks down. Knocks his _head_ against the floor. Once, twice... and he forces himself to stop at three because he doesn't have _time_ for this.

_Get out. Take his clothes and get out. There's no time for revenge. There's no time to get used to this. Just get out._

Stripping the man down and getting himself dressed is an awkward sort of chore. Partly because of the thrum of worry pulsing through him, partly because he can't quite seem to make these (his?) limbs and fingers do what he wants them to. By the time he finishes and shakily heaves himself to his feet it's been over five minutes. Five minutes too long.

It takes everything he has to not keep looking over his shoulder the instant he steps outside of the lab. He's too strange. Too obvious. A tiny bit too short and thin for the "borrowed" clothing to fit properly and he looks nothing like the picture on the ID badge. His limbs feel strange and awkward and he has to think about them too much, that simple fact enough to make every movement a little bit clumsy and not quite right.

He is going to get _caught_. They'll pull him out of this borrowed body and lock him away again. And they certainly won't fall for the same trick twice. He'll never get another chance to escape and they'll poke and prod and pull him open until....

Until there is nothing left of him.

That awful screaming, clawing, panic is back. Rattling around his mind, making it hard to concentrate, and his steps grow even more uncertain. The only point in his favour is that he doesn't breathe, otherwise he'd be somewhere near hyperventilation. As it is, he keeps his head down and tries to make his movements seem steady and normal. Acting like he is deeply focused on the handful of notes that he grabbed along with the clothes and hoping that no one looks too closely.

_Down the hall. A right. Door at the end is a service stairwell...._

The building layout is there in his head. There are all sorts of useful things he scraped up while darting around Nebula's system looking for a way out and he focuses on that. On keeping his legs moving, one in front of the other, and on getting out of this damn building. _Down the stairs. Back towards the garages and loading docks. Just act like you're supposed to be here and no one will look twice._

The door to the outside world is this ugly dull grey thing with a keypad and at the moment it is the most beautiful thing in the world to him. Even if his movements are still a bit jerky and strange when he punches in the door code, he's almost there. Just a little bit further and then he can stop and think and actually attempt to plan how to deal with this situation he has now found himself in.

His first glimpse of the world outside that he has watched through the filter of the internet for so long is a dark, empty, loading dock. It must be late, everything is still and a little bit muted and he's thankful for that. Throwing the lab coat with its ID badge and the papers he'd grabbed into the nearest dumpster and he forces himself to not run. Not until he's off the property. Not until he's a few blocks away. Not at all, really, because running will only draw attention that he doesn't need.

He just needs to keep calm. Quiet. _Distant_.

He tells himself this over and over while he heads off into the city night.


	2. Chapter 2

"Shizu-chan, _really_. This is getting tiresome. It's like I can't even step out for dinner anymore~"

"You can go for dinner wherever the hell you please as long as it ain't around here!"

Izaya laughs and skips back a few steps, making sure that he's just out of reach but still close enough to taunt. "Ah, but the atmosphere in Ikebukuro can be so wonderful~ Even if it does mean that I have to deal with horrifying brutes like you. Some days I just miss it so. Surely even someone like you can sympathize with that, can't you, Shizu-chan?"

"I'm not sympathizing with _anything_ to do with you, flea. If you miss Ikebukuro so much I'll grind you into the pavement and you can be a part of it."

There is a single moment where nothing moves, the air thick with explosive tension. Just waiting for the spark that will set everything ablaze. Then Shizuo glances to the side (looking for the nearest blunt object at hand to aim at Izaya's head) and Izaya lets out another sharp laugh as he dashes up the street. Signaling the beginning of that evening's destructive game.

Izaya is so focused on the chase, the breathless heady rush of wind in his hair as he stays just a few dancing steps ahead of the brute on his heels, that he doesn't notice the strange, pale, creature in the crowd that calls his name. He just keeps running and dodging and laughing through the shining city night and Shizuo keeps chasing. Both of them entirely unaware that they are now being followed. That small thing clumsily trailing after them as best it can.

It ends in a blind alley, not that Izaya considers himself cornered. He only stops long enough to allow Shizuo to catch up. Already plotting various ways to dart around the monster and head off on his merry way. A cruel smile twisting his lips at the sight of Shizuo charging up the alley after him.

Except someone interferes.

The man who steps between them is surprisingly slight of build. A few centimetres shorter than Izaya and all thin and strange looking in ill-fitting clothes. His features far too angular. Everything about him pale and a little bit off.

And he somehow, albeit quite awkwardly, has managed to yank back the railing Shizuo had been swinging at Izaya's head. Not even flinching when Shizuo glares at him with clear murderous intent. His gaze quiet and steady, voice perfectly even when he speaks.

"I'm sorry for interrupting, Heiwajima-san, it's never my intent to interfere. But I have some business I need to discuss with Orihara."

Izaya's eyes narrow, curiosity the only reason he hasn't dashed off elsewhere already. Someone who isn't Simon being suicidal enough to step between him and Shizuo is an oddity worth observing. Although....

"You're polite to the monster but not to me?"

"You don't deserve respect anyway, flea!"

The man shoots the slightest of smiles in Izaya's direction. Something about the expression seeming a little bit sideways and strange when he does it. "I suppose I should apologize. We've done business before, albeit not face to face. I'm used to a level of familiarity between us. Although I suppose I have you at a bit of a disadvantage given that I know you by sight but not vice-versa."

At a glance nothing about this man is familiar to Izaya. He's odd and possibly just as monstrous as Shizuo and even if he does claim that they know each other, Izaya isn't quite certain he wants to acknowledge it. Although there is something gnawing at the back of Izaya's brain. A certain familiarity to the speech patterns. The comment about them never having met face to face. And it's obvious the curiosity must be showing on his face given the way the man waiting for a response rolls his eyes skyward.

"Come on now. Your slowness is starting to get tiresome, Orihara. Do I need to call you 'Yamcha' before you'll get it?"

"Tsukumoya," he says simply, the name coming out closer to an aggravated hiss than anything. "In all fairness I _have_ done business with a great deal of people and this is more than a bit of a surprise given how careful you are about hiding your identity. Does this mean you're not monitoring your chatroom? The twenty-four-seven availability is suddenly a lie?"

"I had a bit of a crisis. This is the business I need to discuss with you. As much as I hate to admit it I could use some assistance."

"What the hell are you two on about?"

Shizuo has been surprisingly silent up to this point, something Izaya chalks up to the man's tiny brain having issues wrapping around the sudden interference. Although it's clear that his confusion is swiftly giving way to frustration that will soon enough snap into an explosive sort of fury.

Not that Tsukumoya seems concerned in the least, flashing the monster another one of those not-quite-right smiles.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, Heiwajima-san, but this really is a private matter. I personally don't care that you're looking to murder Orihara and am well aware that you have excellent reasons for doing so. But I do need his assistance at the moment. Perhaps you could save it for another time?"

"Don't try to reason with the idiot, Tsukumoya. It doesn't work. Beasts like Shizu-chan can't handle civilized discourse."

"Well you _could_ try using a little genuine courtesy once in a while. Don't think I'm not aware of what your usual antics amount to when dealing with him."

"Now why on earth should I be polite to a monster that's hated me since the first time we laid eyes on one another?"

"Both of you cram it!" Shizuo snaps, clearly fed up with being treated like he's not even there. "Fuck. This your long-lost twin or something, flea?

"Hardly."

"God, no!"

The two statements come in an almost perfect horrified unison and Shizuo's jaw clenches, the sound of grinding teeth nearly audible. No matter the protest they're far too alike for Shizuo's taste. Both of them too slick, the sort who drag people under and strangle them with words alone.

It's why he wants to pull Izaya apart, and he can't say it's giving him a much better opinion of this other one, no matter how polite the man might seem at a glance.

But now that the chase has been interrupted, now that he's been stopped short and yanked out of his rage however briefly, he doesn't feel much more than the slightest urge to plant his fist in Izaya's face and be done with it. Even that seeming almost like a bit too much trouble. Shizuo ultimately sneering a bit and he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket as he turns away.

"You know what, I don't care. One of you is bad enough. Do whatever fucking shady 'business' you're up to. Just don't do it here. I don't want to see either of you again."

Izaya watches Shizuo's retreating form in silence for a moment, an odd sort of smile curving his lips and Tsukumoya immediately shakes his head. "Don't even think about it."

"About what~?"

"Throwing the knife up your sleeve at him. Business before whatever bizarre sort of pleasure you get out of toying with him, Orihara."

"Ah~ fine. If you say so." Izaya smoothly slips his hands into his pockets, rocking back onto his heels for a moment before steadying himself. "I suppose this is interesting enough. I have to say, you're not exactly what I imagined while speaking with you online, Tsukumoya."

"Oh? You mind if I ask what you did imagine."

"It's hard to say. But at the very least I figured it would be someone who could manage to dress himself."

There's another of those odd smiles, Tsukumoya glancing down at his misbuttoned shirt for a moment before settling his gaze back on Izaya. "Yes. Well, there's a bit of a story there, Orihara. And I don't quite feel comfortable telling it to you in the middle of an alley in Ikebukuro."

"Fine. Coffee shop?"

"Somewhere less public than that. I...." He pauses for a moment, leaning back against the closest wall and staring off into the middle-distance. "I'm going to regret this, but there are very few people resourceful enough that I can turn to. And given your penchant for gloating I figure you're far more inclined to stab me in the front than in the back. Both metaphorically and literally."

"Get to the point, Tsukumoya."

"I need a place to hide for a while. I'll tell you the rest when we get there."


	3. Chapter 3

"You do realize," Izaya begins slowly, tilting his head back against the couch cushions far enough that he can study the ceiling. "That this entire story of yours comes off as completely unbelievable and asinine."

Izaya's office is dark save for a single lamp near the couch where the pair of them are seated, and for the first time since this entire mess has started Tsukumoya can say that he feels almost... calm. Still not quite used to this too-small skin he's now crammed into but at least not feeling the urge to keep checking behind him. Izaya may not be entirely trustworthy, but at the very least his office is secure.

Or it's secure against most things. He has slipped past Izaya's security and into his private system on occasion before all of this. But baring the intrusion of something like him (like he once was) it's safe enough.

"I was expecting you to say something like that. But, if you choose not to believe it then you have to ask yourself why on earth I would lie about it."

"Maybe you've snapped. Sleep deprivation and isolation from maintaining that chat room of yours, it's all pushed you into believing that you're something you're not."

"Interesting theory. It wouldn't explain my briefly stopping Shizuo, though. Not that I want to try that little trick again. I'm surprised my arm didn't come off." As it stands the joint in his shoulder feels a little bit odd, he can tell things were strained nearly to the breaking point with that one simple intervention, and his hand moves to touch it briefly. The motion almost completely unconscious and that fact draws a strange sort of mixed emotion. It's convenient that his movements are already growing more instinctive, if not quite natural, but he doesn't particularly _want_ to be this way long enough that he needs them to be 

"Point taken." Izaya falls silent for a moment, leaning forward once more and pressing his steepled fingers to his lips while he thinks. "I'd always suspected _something_ about you was a little odd. You're far too good at completely covering your tracks, among other things. Can't say I expected this, though."

Izaya settles back again and lets his eyes flick over his guest. At a simple glance everything about Tsukumoya Shinichi is strange and unnerving and off, reminding Izaya a little bit of a porcelain doll. All pale with skin that is too smooth, hair that is too glossy, and eyes that don't seem quite right. Beautiful in its own way, but odd and more than a little bit unnatural.

Which, provided Tsukumoya is telling the truth, only makes sense. The body _is_ something unnatural. Bits of metal and wire and circuitry underneath synthetic skin, strangely suitable for someone who pretends to be human but very much isn't.

Tsukumoya's head tilts to the side slightly when Izaya says as much. Pointing out quite calmly, "I've never pretended to be anything I'm not. I may have never offered to explain exactly what I am either, but I never pretended."

Izaya sighs and waves the argument away with a flick of his hand. "Dress it up however you like. You misrepresented yourself. Lies through omission are still lies, and coming from someone who deals so firmly with facts and truth no less."

"First, I have always been upfront about the things I will and will not reveal. That includes my identity and what I am. I make it quite plain in my writing. Second, you're one to talk." Tsukumoya pauses for a moment, tapping a finger against his chin. "Hmm. Maybe actually reading my books is one of those things you've lied about.

"Go ahead and deflect." There's a brief flash of a razor sharp smile. "I'm not the one who's a monster."

"I think there are several people who would dispute that fact."

Izaya shrugs and gives his hand another absent flick. "How people view me is irrelevant."

"But how they view _me_ is?" Tsukumoya immediately gives his head a quick shake when Izaya opens his mouth again. "Don't. I have far more pressing concerns to deal with than debating the way I present myself to the world at large. Like being yanked out of what amounts to my home and effectively tortured."

"For a torture victim you're being terribly calm about it. Maybe even inhumanly so."

Tsukumoya's eyes narrow slightly. "I know you're trying to make a clumsy point, but as I've already said: I never pretended to be human. I'm well aware that I'm not human. _But_ , it's apparently to my benefit that people think I operate like a human since otherwise I doubt I would have been able to escape. Have we laboured this point to death enough now? Can we _please_ move on?"

Izaya simply smiles, cold and sharp, and it only takes a moment for Tsukumoya to realize that he's been played. That Izaya was aiming for a reaction and he just went and handed it to the man. Cursing a bit under his breath as he glances away and mutters, "There was no winning that one, was there, Orihara? You either prove your point about my inhumanity or you draw an entertaining reaction. Either way I play nicely into your hands. Well done. Can we get back to business now?"

"I'm not stopping you."

"Fine. The fact of the matter is that I need to regroup and I'm so far out of my element that I need help. In case you haven't noticed, my looks are a bit unusual. I need someplace where I can stay under the radar both physically and online, since I'm also going to have to sort out what happened with my chatroom. You have an excellent setup for that."

"And now we come to the most important question, Tsukumoya." Izaya leans back and stretches lazily. His smile shifting to something far more self-satisfied, albeit as cold as ever. "What's in it for me?"

"I'll pay you, naturally."

"Eh? That's all? How boring! And here I expected so much _better_ from you, Tsukumoya. Really, take you out of your element and you become as simple and tedious as any average slob who comes groveling for a scrap or two of knowledge and figures throwing money at it will be enough."

"It'll be twice what you usually pay me."

"Well that is nothing to sneeze at. For that matter why do you demand such disgusting amounts of money for payment in the first place? Not that it's much of an issue for me but knowing what I do now I can't see you having much use for it."

"Because it's always a good idea to have funds available for the odd occasions where I might need them. Like now."

"Still, even at double your ridiculous rate I'm not sure if that's enough. Sheltering you could put me at considerable risk. Your enemy suddenly becomes mine."

"You're already sheltering Yagiri Namie and hiding the dullahan's head from them. I doubt you could manage to piss off Nebula any more than you already have. And don't try to tell me that they don't know," Tsukumoya immediately adds when Izaya opens his mouth to protest. "At the very least they suspect."

"So you're telling me to put myself even more firmly in their sights? You're terrible at sweetening the pot, Tsukumoya."

"You'll do it. Because you're already thinking about what kind of trouble you could cause with me stuck here at your questionable mercy. I have virtually no one to turn to. It's likely someone betrayed me. It's even possible that you're the one who did it but I have enough doubts about that to trust you for the moment."

"Oh? You're staking your life on it?"

"I don't have much of a choice either way. I'm backed into a corner. Honestly, my escape plan wasn't the most well thought out. At the time getting away was the only thing I was concerned with and I didn't fully consider just how badly I might get myself stuck in doing so. At least I have _some_ options this way."

"Like me~"

"Like you." Tsukumoya doesn't look happy as he agrees and Izaya laughs. Clapping his hands together in what Tsukumoya imagines can only be a sadistic sort of glee before bouncing to his feet.

"Ah, I suppose this means we'll be roomies. How interesting~"

"I take it this means you agree then?"

"For now. And it does seem to be in my best interests to help you. You're an excellent source, after all. It would be foolish not to protect that."


	4. Chapter 4

Tsukumoya doesn't sleep that night.

Not that he has ever slept, but there is something different about not sleeping when there isn't thousands upon thousands of things to hold his attention. With all of his awareness focused down to one tiny area it's strange and more than a little dull.

Before heading off to bed himself Izaya had asked, "Can I trust that you won't go rifling through my files?" and Tsukumoya simply scoffed slightly before replying.

"I think it's safe to say that you don't have anything on file that I'm not already completely aware of. After all, you're the one who comes to _me_ for information, Orihara. Not the other way around."

There had been no response to that, Izaya leaving him to his own devices, and he ultimately finds himself in Izaya's desk chair, swiveling from side to side a bit and staring out the oversized window at the Shinjuku night. Most of his attention focused inward, carefully studying the inner workings of what he considers his new home, prison, and (for a brief moment where he feels somewhat generous) extension of himself.

There is an internal GPS chip that he disabled the instant he realized it was there. He'd only been about a block away from Nebula's labs when he noticed it, and has been running periodic checks ever since to make sure that it's staying off and that there are no backups. Even still, its existence alone leaves him a bit edgy and paranoid. That creeping need to keep looking over his shoulder back now that he is once again alone in the darkness.

The joints in the right shoulder are a bit of a mess since he stopped Shizuo from braining Izaya. Still usable, but a little bit stiff like something got bent out of place and is rubbing awkwardly now. The left in somewhat better shape but still not quite right and in some far corner of his mind he finds it interesting to note that there truly is nothing that can stand up to Ikebukuro's god of violence.

But no matter how interesting it is (and how lucky he is that this is the only damage he suffered from tangling however briefly with Shizuo) it's still inconvenient and somewhat uncomfortable. Something he wishes he could repair but is simply going to have to deal with until he finds a way out.

And as far as escape goes there is a pair of access ports -- one at the base of his skull and hidden under his hair, the other a bit below the midpoint of his spine -- which he only now has the time to study properly, frowning a bit at the specialized configuration. If he'd been thinking just a little bit clearer, if he hadn't been panicking, if there hadn't been someone in the lab when he'd hopped into this seemingly convenient body, he would have thought enough to bring some of the cables from the lab with him. As things stand it's just as he told Izaya, in trying to escape he's backed himself into a corner. A mobile prison cell that's potentially traceable and currently somewhat damaged.

A solitary cell with the tiniest of windows to the outside world in comparison to what he's used to. He's coping, certainly, but for the first time in his existence he is at a loss. There are things going on that he isn't immediately aware of and thinking about this fact too closely leaves him with that strange panicky sensation again.

It's that awful, creeping, edginess that ultimately makes him turn away from the window and turn on one of Izaya's computers. Entering the password without a moment's hesitation (all the little things he knows, all the things that he may never be able to learn so easily ever again) and opening a handful of browser windows. Flicking from site to site, page to page, as fast as they'll load.

Izaya frowns when he steps into his office come morning only to find Tsukumoya settled quite comfortably behind his desk and staring intently at something on his main PC.

"Didn't I say to _not_ go rifling through my files."

"And as _I_ said: I have no reason to. And I'm not."

"What are you doing then?"

"Checking news sites mostly. I don't have my usual level of message board and chatroom access like this. I'm going to need a computer of my own. A laptop at the very least although a desktop system would be ideal." He pauses for a moment, eyes still intently focused on the screen in front of him. "Actually, having _both_ would be the most ideal...."

"Making demands already?"

"I can afford to pay for it myself, Orihara. Consider any 'demands' you think I'm making simply me thinking out loud. Although I would appreciate your help in acquiring them. After all, the faster I get one of my own the less chance there is of me causing a _problem_ by messing around on yours."

"And I suppose you'll want to be networked too."

"Naturally. I'm not going to sit here quietly hiding, as I said last night I need to figure out what happened and I need to get out of this body before I lose my mind." He finally glances away from the screen long enough to meet Izaya's eyes, the slightest hint of strain showing on his face. "I'm not quite made to live like this, Orihara. No more than your mind could handle what I consider normal. The sooner it's all over and done with the better."

"Fine. I'll get Namie to do some shopping before she comes in." Izaya retrieves his phone from his back pocket, looking far too pleased at the prospect of disturbing his assistant at an early hour. "Do you have any particular issue with her knowing that you're here?"

"Do you think she can be trusted?"

"Not even a little bit! But I don't think she'd be too terribly willing to run to Nebula even if I do bother to share the entire story with her. 'The enemy of my enemy...' and all the rest of that tired cliché. Although mostly I doubt she'd care about you one way or the other at all. And I can't even believe you asked me that question, Tsukumoya." There's a flash of a cruel smile as Izaya perches himself on the edge of his desk and fiddles with his phone. "Are you already starting to lose it? So incapable of coping that you're growing duller and more tedious by the moment?"

Tsukumoya doesn't bother to reply, simply turning his full attention back to the screen in front of him. Almost visibly relaxing as he goes back to silently absorbing page after page and Izaya watches with a mild sort of interest. Murmuring, "You're an odd sort of monster, aren't you Tsukumoya?" while he sends Namie a text.

It's a little after ten when Namie finally comes in, carrying a laptop box and looking quite irritable. Complaining even before she is fully in the door.

"I didn't feel like hauling more than this so the rest will be delivered this afternoon. Now will you explain why this was so important that you felt the need to text me about it at five in the morning since I'm pretty sure you already have no less than a half dozen computers already?"

"Because, Namie-chan," Izaya begins cheerfully from his spot on the couch. "They're not for me, they're for my guest." Izaya gives an elaborate sort of wave towards where Tsukumoya is still seated behind his desk before continuing in a stage-whisper. "He's hiding out here, though. So don't say anything about it."

"I'm not even sure I want to know what's going on. Just don't text me at ungodly hours of the morning with your errands anymore." Namie unceremoniously drops the box on Izaya's lap and briskly turns away, intent on getting to her own work and Izaya heaves an overly dramatic sigh.

"But it's all part of your _job_ , Namie-chan~ Really! Ah well. Tsukumoya!" Izaya bounces to his feet, holding the box in front of him as he strolls towards his desk. "You have a shiny new computer of your own now, get off of mine."

Tsukumoya's movements are slow, almost as if he's coming out of a stupor when he glances up from the screen and Izaya laughs.

"My, my~ Look at you! You're an absolute wreck already. Do you honestly think you're going to last long enough to sort this nonsense out?"

"I don't have much of a choice in the matter."

"Hmm. It'll be interesting to watch at the very least. Here." He shoves the box in Tsukumoya's direction and almost immediately starts motioning for him to stand. "Get yourself sorted out and keep out of my way. I _do_ have work to take care of, you know. Maybe having something to focus on will keep you from having some sort of a bizarre meltdown." Izaya leans in close, his voice dropping to a deadly sort of hiss next to Tsukumoya's ear. "It would be a shame to lose you, after all."


	5. Chapter 5

Things fall into a strange sort of pattern over the next few days. Tsukumoya sets himself up in a corner of Izaya's office and keeps to himself. Making himself scarce on the odd occasions when Izaya's clients show up in person, but more often than not he can be found at his computer, going through page after page of text faster than the average eye can follow.

Izaya ignores him for a little while, assuring himself that he's not particularly interested in what the monster does beyond how potentially useful he can be. Although on some level it is interesting. This is a creature that managed to trick Izaya into believing it was human, after all. A creature that can't quite cope now that it has been shoved directly into the world that it once watched so intently.

Izaya won't admit it out loud, but there is something fascinating there no matter how inhuman Tsukumoya may be.

By the fifth day Tsukumoya has developed a bad habit of padding around Izaya's apartment at all hours. Moving from room to room on silent feet, sometimes curling up on the office couch, sometimes sifting through the physical files, occasionally staring out the window for a few minutes before moving on; his movements sharp-edged and restless.

It doesn't take long for Izaya to find this change somewhat irritating. It was one thing when Tsukumoya was huddled off in some corner and keeping out of the way. But the pacing around like some sort of a caged animal leaves Izaya feeling strangely tense as well. As if he's just as trapped and there are times when he's almost tempted to leave for a while. To get away from the incessant pacing.

Except Izaya will be damned before he lets one of the monsters chase him out of his office. Even if it is a monster that he invited in.

"You're starting to become the worst sort of houseguest, Tsukumoya," Izaya finally snaps one evening, strolling up to where his guest has currently settled on the couch. "Roaming around wherever and whenever you please, it's disturbing."

"In all fairness it's not like you sleep much yourself," is the indifferent reply, Tsukumoya clearly uninterested in the conversation.

"That's hardly the point! Just because I don't sleep much doesn't mean that I don't need it at all. Really, how do you not even need the slightest bit of rest? What are you running on?"

"A small amount of radioactive material." Tsukumoya doesn't even bother to look up from his reading, the quietly deadpan response causing Izaya to make a face. "I think it might be unshielded. Want to sit in my lap? Maybe I could do the world a favour by making sure you never manage to reproduce."

"You're joking."

"Yes."

"Well it's not particularly funny. Not that I should expect better from a soulless automaton."

"Mmm... hey!" There's the slightest of protests as Izaya grabs his laptop and pulls it from his hands. Pushing it to the side thoughtlessly and he drops into Tsukumoya's lap with a vicious smile curving his lips.

"And you should know better than to give me an open invitation, Tsukumoya."

"Yes, god only knows you'll take any excuse to be annoying. Now get off, I have things to do."

"Like what? It's been nearly a week and I highly doubt you've accomplished anything beyond annoying me with your presence."

"Do you want me to grovel for your forgiveness, Orihara? I'm no happier about this than you. It's taken me this long to even _start_ setting up the sort of connections I had prior to this point. And you're certainly no help."

"From what I recall of our deal you're paying me for shelter, not information. If you wanted that sort of assistance you should have negotiated it right from the start." Izaya tucks a finger under Tsukumoya's chin, laughing slightly when his hand is quickly slapped away.

"If you want something say it straight out, Orihara. In case you haven't noticed I'm not quite in the mood for games lately."

"Temper~ I never thought you'd be the sort of monster to snap and lash out, but I suppose all unnatural things have that sort of viciousness to them. Don't they?"

"You tell me. Personally I think I'm showing a great deal of restraint. I should be throwing you on the floor, and don't doubt that I can."

"True enough. So why aren't you?" Izaya shifts a bit, his hands settling lightly on Tsukumoya's shoulders and he leans in close enough for their foreheads to touch. Smiling at the way Tsukumoya's eyes narrow in response.

"I'm curious as to what your game is. For someone who claims to have absolutely no interest in 'monsters' at all you're certainly acting otherwise."

"Ah, well~ Sometimes a diversion is in order."

Everything Izaya does is for a reason, even if that reason is nothing more than drawing a reaction. To see how far he can push things. To skirt a very dangerous sort of edge.

Tsukumoya's skin is just as cool and strange as Izaya expected it to be. Too smooth and when he lets their lips brush there is no faint whisper of breath against his own skin. It's like kissing a doll. Even more so because in that moment Tsukumoya doesn't move. Doesn't blink. Doesn't do anything but sit in a perfectly unnatural sort of stillness.

Then Izaya is unceremoniously dumped to the floor. Tsukumoya looming over him and glaring for a moment before he gathers up his laptop and stalks off, clearly intent on getting as far away from Izaya as possible. Or at least as far away as he can manage without actually leaving the office.

It's all terribly amusing and Izaya sits there for a moment, leaning against the edge of the couch and laughing.

Tsukumoya sticks to his corner after that. No more pacing, or at least none that Izaya notices, although the restlessness is exchanged for an odd sort of tension. The pair of them eying one another from opposite corners of the room more often than not and Izaya smiles in response to every sour look shot in his direction.

Izaya doesn't particularly care about sex, save for what he can use it to accomplish, and he certainly doesn't care about monsters. Sex _with_ a monster is really one of the last things he's interested in trying. Especially when there's no particular benefit, or at least not an obvious one to attempting to tangle Tsukumoya up that way. Izaya honestly doubts the thing is even capable of feeling anything similar to human desire.

These are the things he tells himself. Reasons for why he shouldn't be so damn tempted to try and continue yanking reactions out of Tsukumoya.

There are times though, when Izaya has problems listening to the more rational portion of his mind.

Dealing with Tsukumoya is swiftly becoming one of those times.

In the end what he does is nothing particularly clever or well planned or even subtle. It's nothing more than pure impulse, an opportunity to be noticed and immediately snatched at while Tsukumoya is taking one of his rare breaks. Standing in front of the window and staring in such a way that it's obvious that he's not viewing anything outside so much as he is focused intently on his own thoughts.

And Izaya presses his lips to the back of that too-cool neck. Grinning at the way Tsukumoya immediately whips around and catches one of Izaya's wrists in his hands.

Tsukumoya is stronger, that goes without saying given that he is an unnatural thing, but even after a week his movements are still a tiny bit awkward and clumsy on occasion, especially if he is thrown off balance mentally, and it only takes the slightest of twists on Izaya's part to knock his feet out from under him.

They fall to a tangled heap on the floor, Tsukumoya's face showing only the slightest hint of irritation as he shifts so he's straddling Izaya and pins the other man's hands above his head. Murmuring, "You really want to go there?" all deadlysoft and Izaya's smile in response is wild and vicious.

"Are you saying you don't? That you're not even a little bit curious? Granted, I can't be certain exactly how an inhuman mind such as yours works, but this is something that needs to be done. Don't you think?~"

"I think you're a nuisance that's better off ignored."

"Aw. Don't be like that~ Tsukumoya is just so _cranky_ when he's not safely ensconced in his little chatroom where he makes all the rul...glk...." Izaya's taunting is forcibly cut short by two of Tsukumoya's fingers pushing into his mouth. The smile curving Tsukumoya's lips one of those strange, entirely awkward, expressions that Izaya has mostly grown used to and barely notices anymore.

But now, as little as he likes to admit it, Izaya finds it strangely unnerving. Those smiles never reach his too pale eyes. It's probably physically impossible for them to.

"You want to do this? Then we can, if only to make you stop bothering me. Now I suggest you make those nice and wet, or this is going to hurt otherwise."

Izaya smiles around the fingers that are nearly gagging him, his eyes growing heavy-lidded as he does just as asked. His tongue sliding lazily over cool (synthetic) skin and he almost has to laugh when Tsukumoya's other hand moves downward to fumble with his belt.

It's entertaining watching Tsukumoya try to strip off his pants one handed and Izaya wants to say, 'you didn't think this through, did you?' Except those fingers won't leave his mouth and on some level he's strangely okay with that. Letting out an eager little hum as he licks and sucks and occasionally scrapes his teeth against the intruding digits. His own hands moving to help and soon enough Izaya is kicking his pants aside, groaning a little when one of his legs is wrenched awkwardly to rest on Tsukumoya's shoulder.

"I have to admit, you look good like this, Orihara." That strange, sideways, smile still curving Tsukumoya's lips as his free hand easily wraps around Izaya's cock. "Flat on your back and flushed and wanting. Most people probably don't get to see you like this unless you let them. Now the question is: am I seeing it because you're letting me, or because I have the advantage?"

He gives the fingers in Izaya's mouth a little push, watching quietly as Izaya chokes a bit, before sliding them free. His hand slowly moving downwards while Izaya gasps for breath and licks his lips. Rasping, "Maybe the two aren't mutually exclusive."

"Well that's something to think about." Slowly he eases a finger inside, watching appreciatively while Izaya's body arches slightly at the careful intrusion. Quietly indifferent to every reaction and Izaya's smile shifts to a sneer. An expression of irritation that only lasts a moment as that long finger briefly slides free and is joined by a second. The movement enough to draw another eager hiss from Izaya's lips.

The room is dark and silent save for Izaya's harsh breathing and the occasional slick sound of Tsukumoya's fingers pressing deeper and deeper. Izaya unable to keep his hips from twitching in time to every movement and it takes everything he has to flash a tense smile. To act just as indifferent as this thing that's watching him squirm.

"So... so what?... You're...nnn... only going to do me with your fingers?... Boring~"

Tsukumoya shrugs, giving his fingers another slow and careful twist that causes Izaya to shudder and yelp. "This isn't a sex robot, Orihara. I'm not particularly anatomically correct. That doesn't mean I can't make you scream just like this." Proving his point with a quick jab that rubs against Izaya's prostate and draws yet another ragged moan. "Honestly, I didn't think you'd be this easy. Is pride the only thing stopping you from coming right now?"

"Hnn.... Fuck... you...."

"Ah, maybe you were right. This was something that needed to happen." Tsukumoya lets out a slight chuckle as his thumb slides over the head of Izaya's cock. "You started it a few days ago and now it's reached its inevitable conclusion. With you flat on your back and moaning. A desperate. Needy. Thing." He punctuates each word with a sharp thrust of his fingers that makes Izaya yelp.

"The thing is. I don't know if I want this to be the end of it or not."

A harsh groan tears its way free from Izaya's throat as Tsukumoya's fingers crook _just so_ and push him that last inch over the edge. His body twisting desperately as he comes. Everything lost in a haze of heat and want and these strange, strange cool points where Tsukumoya's skin is touching his. Only vaguely aware as he watches Tsukumoya carefully lick the come from his fingers before leaning in to kiss Izaya. Murmuring a single sentence when their lips finally part.

"You look too good like this for it to end."


	6. Chapter 6

Izaya dozes off for a bit afterwards, sprawled out on his office floor and snoring softly, and Tsukumoya finds it amusing if only because once Izaya wakes up and _realizes_ he fell asleep he's going to loathe himself. It's something that Tsukumoya knows he wants a front row seat for and he only moves enough to retrieve his laptop, settling in to do some work while he waits for Izaya to wake.

It doesn't take long before Izaya is grumbling a bit under his breath and rubbing his eyes. Glowering when he notices Tsukumoya sitting beside him, entirely engrossed in his laptop like being sprawled on the floor, half-naked and sticky, is nothing unusual. His voice entirely disinterested when he speaks.

"You look cute like that, you know."

"Fuck you. Where are my pants?"

"They got thrown that way." Tsukumoya casually gestures behind him. "I presume they landed behind the couch or something."

Izaya grumbles a bit, heaving himself to his feet and Tsukumoya watches with a vague sort of interest as he stalks off to see exactly where his pants might have landed.

"You are aware you have no reason to be irritable given that you started it, right? Not that I'm sure why...."

"Temporary insanity. Clearly."

"Hmm. So that means we won't be doing it again? Shame."

"Why? Did you _enjoy_ it?"

"It was an education. I suppose if anything good can be said to have come from this hellish mess it's all the... interesting first-hand experiences. There's only so much observation can teach you."

"I'm so glad I could broaden your horizons. Now if you don't mind, I need to shower. And you should change. There's nothing tackier than sitting around in stained clothes. Although given you've been wearing the same thing for a week now I'm not sure if that's much of a concern of yours."

"I don't sweat or shed cells or any other sort of biological degradation that might make them dirty, there was really no reason for me to change.... Until now I suppose. What with you coming all over me." Tsukumoya closes his laptop with a soft click and pushes himself to his feet. Quietly murmuring, "I wonder how well this thing is waterproofed?.." and drawing yet another glare from Izaya.

"Don't even think about it, Tsukumoya."

"Ah. So are you saying that _you_ didn't enjoy it? Because from where I was sitting that didn't seem to be the case. Oh, stop making that face." Tsukumoya gives his head a small shake. "I'm not about to join you in the shower, if only because I don't know if it would be hazardous to my health or not. Consider your virtue safe. Although I think it's a little bit late to be concerned."

Izaya says nothing. He simply shakes his head and stalks off towards the bathroom, grumbling irritably under his breath the entire time, Tsukumoya watching with a certain amount of amusement.

Izaya doesn't like it when the balance of things shifts away from favouring him and Tsukumoya knows on some level that he's going to have to watch himself. Not that he's quite willing to trust anyone these days. And even if he was, watching his back around Orihara Izaya is really more common sense than anything.

He ends up raiding Izaya's bedroom for something to wear. Settling on a pair of pyjama pants and a tee shirt simply because he doubts Izaya will miss them and he starts poking through Izaya's things to keep himself entertained while he waits for the informant to get out of the shower. Watching his back may be one part of keeping ahead of Izaya, but the other is that tired old cliché about offence being the best defence. Keeping Izaya too off balance to retaliate is the simplest way to keep him at bay.

Unsurprisingly Izaya snaps, "Out!" the instant he steps in the room. His hair still damp and a towel slung low around his waist. "And quit rifling through my drawers."

"Now don't be like that. I was just seeing if you had anything kicking around that maybe we could use the next time." Tsukumoya closes the bedside table he'd been rummaging through without glancing in Izaya's direction and smoothly moves to check the other. "I can't believe you don't even have a tube of lubricant handy. I take it you must take care of whatever 'entertaining' you might have do elsewhere."

"That's right. I _don't_ invite people into my bedroom. You especially are not invited. Out!"

"I'll remind you again: you're the one who opened Pandora's Box, Orihara. Do you honestly think I would have done anything if you hadn't practically jumped on my hypothetical dick? You wanted a reaction, and now you don't like the one you received. So like you." With a flick of his wrist he slams shut the other nightstand before flopping down on Izaya's bed, carefully studying the man through lowered lashes. "So here it is, my move, turnabout being fair play and all." He smiles and crooks a finger. "Now drop the towel and come to daddy."

"Is this your idea of what makes for a good seduction? Wearing my pyjamas and spouting terrible lines? Although I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Everything you know about sex you probably learned from cheesy porn."

"I didn't see you complaining about that fact earlier."

"You're not even naked!"

"I don't think you'd find it very interesting if I was."

"Maybe I should be the judge of that. I don't lose the towel until you lose the shirt at the very least."

Tsukumoya's smile fades somewhat as it becomes obvious that Izaya is starting to get his proverbial feet back under him and he shifts to a sitting position. His fingers sliding under the bottom of his shirt and he doesn't think about it too closely as he peels it up and over his head. His voice maybe a _little_ bit too close to a snap when he says, "Happy?" and one of Izaya's brows lift slightly in response.

"It's a start." His eyes skim over Tsukumoya's pale chest, mouth twisting into a horribly smug expression. "The fewer clothes you wear the more obvious it becomes how entirely artificial you are. You don't even have nipples."

"Well it's not like I designed the thing. It was a convenient escape route, remember?"

"Yes, yes. Now, the pants. Off."

"Towel first."

"No, you've already seen mine. I want to see the lack of yours."

"Are you developing some new, bizarre, fetish, Orihara?" Casually Tsukumoya hooks his thumbs into the waistband of the pyjama pants, although he doesn't move otherwise. "Should I be doing a striptease here?"

"No need for that. I just want to see _exactly_ how unnatural you really are."

"Fine. But remember, unnatural or not I still made you come."

With one smooth movement Tsukumoya slides his pants down over narrow hips and kicks them aside, tucking his hands behind his head as he finishes and leaning against the pillows. Waiting for the inevitable snide comment, he attempts to remain impassive under Izaya's assessing gaze.

"You're basically a little plastic doll, aren't you?"

"What did you expect? I told you from day one exactly what I was. You may accuse me of pretending to be human, but you're the one intent on viewing me as one. Or at the very least toying with me as if I'm one even while you complain about what a 'monster' I am. So." Tsukumoya's head tilts to the side slightly. "Are you going to join me or not?"

"I think you're forgetting that this is my bed you've made yourself at home in. You don't get to do the inviting. _I_ decide if I'm going to kick you out or not."

"All right, if you want to go about it that way. Are you going to kick me out?"

Izaya's response is to let his towel drop to the floor and slide into bed.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Izaya is calling himself the worst kind of idiot. Nothing good can come of this. Tsukumoya is too damn sharp (sharp little metal bones pressed against false skin all smooth and cool and strange under his fingertips) for Izaya to trick and mould and manipulate. Even at a disadvantage, even out of his element, he's a little too capable at twisting things around and somehow managing to land square on his feet. The sort of skill that Izaya tends to pride _himself_ on is actually quite irritating when it surfaces in someone else.

It's especially irritating when it's one of the monsters.

And in this moment, quietly sprawled in Izaya's bed while Izaya licks and sucks and bites at the side of his neck, Tsukumoya has never seemed more strange and definitively an Other. He is too silent and too cold and Izaya will never be able to put a mark on that pale, pale, skin.

It makes him _want_ to mark the bastard. Retrieve the knife he always has tucked under his pillow (just in case) and make one quick cut. Just to watch him bleed.

Except he won't bleed. Or maybe he will in a sense. Maybe he'll start leaking hydraulic fluid or god knows what kind of lubrication there is in there making all those moving parts click along in a parody of humanity. Something that will make him seem just that much stranger and false.

Strange. Wrong. Awful. Fake. Inhuman. _Thing_.

And Izaya is harder than he's ever been in his life. His fingers dig into those narrow hips while he pushes his tongue into Tsukumoya's mouth and wishes that he could just fuck the bastard into the mattress. Hard and fast and vicious until Tsukumoya screams at him to stop. Until there is a goddamn _reaction_ because Tsukumoya is barely moving beyond kissing back (just a little bit) and a response is the thing Izaya finds himself craving most of all.

Except he _can't_. Because Tsukumoya's entire body is sleek and smooth and seamless save for the tiniest of metallic notches in his back that Izaya's fingers dig into briefly, and there's no way in hell he can stick his cock into _that_.

Of course, there is always the obvious.

Izaya's breathing is harsh and ragged as he heaves himself to a kneeling position and grabs a fistful of Tsukumoya's hair. His jaw tightening when Tsukumoya still barely twitches beyond the slightest raising of an eyebrow.

"Well, looks like I only have one hole to work with here, hmm?"

"I suppose so."

"On the plus side, at least it'll keep you from talking."

Tsukumoya lets out a sharp bark of laughter and then Izaya is pushing his head down. His fingers coiling tight in glossy hair as he leans back, a sharp little hiss escaping from between his teeth. Tsukumoya's mouth is just as strangely cool as the rest of him. Cool and odd but entirely clever, Izaya's hips jerking at every movement.

And maybe bad porn _isn't_ such a terrible place to learn about sex. Seduction techniques, yes. But as for sex itself, well, the monster has apparently picked up something useful out of whatever observations he's made. A perfect tandem of lips and tongue and the slightest amount of teeth. Slightly awkward at first but quickly adapting and soon enough Izaya's breathing is reduced to a rapid mess of hitching gasps. His hands clumsily tugging Tsukumoya's head this way and that, his movements growing rougher and still Tsukumoya doesn't react. Doesn't choke or twitch or even attempt to pull away slightly, and for a brief moment when their eyes catch it almost looks like Tsukumoya is laughing at him (which is ridiculous because Tsukumoya's eyes _never_ show emotion; they're flat and dull and quite possibly the most unnervingly inhuman part of him.)

It leaves a sick feeling of frustration pooling low in his gut, his fingers curling so tightly in Tsukumoya's hair that they start to ache a little. His hips jerking upwards even more viciously. He _wants_ Tsukumoya to choke. To squirm and try and pull away. _Something_ beyond that quietly placid stare.

Except there's nothing. Not even when Izaya comes, his hands falling numbly to his sides while Tsukumoya milks every drop from him. A terribly satisfied smile curving Tsukumoya's lips as he slides his way back up Izaya's body. Their mouths slanting together for a lazy kiss and Izaya nearly pushes Tsukumoya off of him when along with that strangely cool tongue sliding between his lips there is also a mouthful of his own come. An aggravated frown creasing his brow as he chokes and sputters a bit when their lips finally part.

"So not only can't you be bothered to swallow, _that_ is where you feel the need to spit?"

"No stomach," Tsukumoya replies with an absent shrug. "It makes swallowing a bit problematic. I figured this was a little bit sexier than just gobbing it on the floor." He flashes a quick smile before leaning forward and kissing Izaya again, his tongue doing another teasing sweep of the inside of the informant's mouth before he pulls away. "Don't you think so?"

Izaya says nothing, not quite placated but still a little bit too loose-limbed and lazy to make more of an issue of it. His thumb smoothing along the line of Tsukumoya's spine and it suddenly occurs to him what a picture the pair of them must make. Curled together and talking softly like they're basking in some kind of nauseating afterglow.

It's nearly enough to make Izaya want to shove Tsukumoya out of bed onto the floor and his voice is an irritable hiss when he snaps, "Look at you. You're far too pleased with yourself, Tsukumoya. Especially considering that I doubt you get anything out of this at all. Not beyond whatever cheap amusement you find in wringing me dry."

"You're wrong," Tsukumoya murmurs against the side of Izaya's neck and Izaya wants to push him away, irritated by how cold and unnatural the thing is while he is still sweat-slick and overheated. "There's... I'm not sure. But it is a sort of satisfaction, at least as far as I can tell. I do enjoy this."

He shifts slightly, slim body looming over Izaya's sprawled form. "I want to watch you come over and over again. I love the way you move, the way you scream, the way you _feel_. Don't think I'm not affected just because it's unrecognizable to you. I think... I could almost say that I want you."

"That's a dangerous thing to admit, Tsukumoya."

"I'm well aware of that." There's a flash of one of those strange, strange smiles as Tsukumoya moves again, easily hooking Izaya's legs over his shoulders and ignoring the way Izaya immediately starts attempting to kick free. "You're the sort who would take advantage of someone's desires in a heartbeat. _Especially_ when you're the object of said desires. But all the same I don't think I have to worry too much."

"Dammit, we are _not_ doing this again already! Are you trying to kill me?"

"Ah. But, Orihara," Tsukumoya murmurs, trailing long fingers across Izaya's hipbones, "that's the thing. You want me just the same. As much as you say you love humanity, deep down you need the edge of something beyond. Something to push you a little bit above the masses."

Izaya is still a little bit slick and loose from earlier and his only reaction is a moan and a breathless hiss of "hate you" when Tsukumoya's fingers push inside him. The movements agonizingly slow and teasing while Izaya twists and moans, his hands clenching at the bedsheets.

At a glance Tsukumoya's face is a smooth, indifferent, mask while he carefully works at making Izaya squirm. As though all the accusations are true and nothing at all touches him. Except somewhere behind all the indifference there is a certain amount of intensity. The entire line of his body tense while he makes Izaya twist and scream and shudder.

And when Izaya comes again, hot and slick between them, the smile that curves Tsukumoya's lips almost looks natural.


	7. Chapter 7

"Ah~ Namie-chan's late~"

It's the first thing Izaya has said since strolling into his office that morning, looking surprisingly alert despite the fragmented sleep Tsukumoya _knows_ he had. If anything he seems quite relaxed, leaning back in his chair, idly swiveling from side to side, and very pointedly not looking in Tsukumoya's direction.

Tsukumoya isn't sure if it's awkward or not. Just like last night's sex the morning after is a brand new first-hand experience for him. Certainly he's seen it depicted in every possible fictional medium, not to mention all the people who talk about it in various chatrooms and message boards and blogs, more times than even _he_ can be bothered to count.

But this is different. This is him and Izaya sitting in the same room acting as if they hadn't spent most of the previous night wrapped around one another and it's a strange sort of thing to try to put into perspective. A small portion of his mind quietly sorting through everything he knows about sex and first times and mornings after in an attempt to pinpoint his own opinions on all of this even while he attempts to catch up on all the things he missed online while he was...

(holding Izaya down and sucking his cock and fingering him until he makes this wonderful little keening noise and slowly and carefully figuring out every erogenous zone and discovering that he enjoys rimjobs and)

...busy.

"She's not late," Tsukumoya eventually comments from where he's curled on the couch with his laptop when the silence drags on for just a little bit too long. "You tell her to come in at nine and she comes in precisely at nine. Not a minute earlier. And honestly I don't blame her. I certainly don't want to spend as much time with you as I have to. At least she has her own place."

"Well, just as I've told her, I could always let Nebula know where you are if you have that many problems with me." Izaya flashes a vicious sort of grin and Tsukumoya finally bothers to look up from his laptop long enough to glare. "And she should come in early. She needs to put the coffee on."

"As if you need caffeine. I'm fairly certain you run on the misery of others." He gives his head a small shake, rapidly clicking through a few webpages. "Why don't you just make your own coffee? I'm sure that's what you did _before_ that poor woman got stuck under your thumb."

"Namie is hardly some fragile flower of womanhood that I'm crushing the life out of. I don't think she needs you riding to her defense."

"No. But can't help but sympathize with anyone trapped at your questionable mercy. Do you want me to make the coffee? I can have it ready before you even wake up."

There is a beat of silence where Izaya just _stares_ at him and Tsukumoya wishes he could drag that last question back and out of existence. Wondering for a moment if it would have sounded quite so strangely domestic yesterday, or if he even would have bothered to offer yesterday.

"No. Because making coffee is part of Namie's _job_. You don't want to replace her and have me turning her out, do you?"

Tsukumoya shrugs, an oddly jerky sort of movement, and keeps his eyes focused intently on his reading. His brain skittering through possible responses when Namie finally walks in, drawing Izaya's attention.

And he's positive that if he breathed he'd be sighing in relief.

"Good-morning, Namie-chan~" Izaya gives his chair a few spins as he calls out across the office. "Right on time as always! I was going to complain about you being late but Tsukumoya here saw fit to inform me that you're never late. And he should know! He's probably synced up to the atomic clock somehow."

"How long has he been like this?" Namie asks as she hangs up her coat, not even bothering to glance in Izaya's direction.

"When is he not like this?" is the simple reply, Tsukumoya keeping his attention firmly focused on his computer.

"I suppose you have a point."

"Both of you are just so cruel to me!" Izaya lets out a dramatic sigh and leans back in his chair, flinging his arm across his eyes. "Here I am sheltering you from those who would do you harm and this is how you repay me?"

"It's not like you're doing it out of the kindness of your heart since I'm fairly certain that doesn't exist," Tsukumoya replies simply, falling into the safe rhythm of verbal sparring. "You always have your angles. With Yagiri-san she needed work and you wanted Celty's head, along with a sounding board and someone to gloat to occasionally. As for me, I need shelter until I can work out how to get back where I belong and you believe that even like this I'll still be a useful source of information. It's mutually beneficial to everyone involved; you just don't like to admit that you get something out of it so you can try to wrangle for even _more_." Tsukumoya shoots a tight smile in Izaya's direction as he finishes before turning his attention back to his computer and the message boards he's flicking through faster than any normal human could read.

"Ah, I still think you're getting the better end of the deal here, Tsukumoya~ And yet I put up with both of you _and_ your lack of respect."

"You don't want blind respect. You have plenty of worshipers and in the end you find most of them boring. We interest you. That's another part of why we're here."

"Wrong!" Izaya bounces to his feet, theatrically jabbing a finger in Tsukumoya's direction. "With Namie, yes, I will admit she can be terribly interesting. But not you. You _are_ one of the monsters, after all. Occasionally useful but hardly worth my time."

"And yet...."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing at all."

"Are you trying to imply that I find you fascinating, Tsukumoya? That's a bit egotistical, don't you think?"

"You found me fascinating enough last night. Six times no less." The words come out before he can stop them and judging by the vicious smile that briefly flickers across Izaya's face he'd been waiting for Tsukumoya to make the first comment about it anyway.

"You had me pinned down for about four of them!"

"I didn't see you complaining."

"You know you two are in mixed company who very much doesn't want to hear this," Namie suddenly cuts in from where she's settling in at her own desk. "In fact I'm pretty much wishing that I could _un_ hear the last part of that."

"This is true. The only sex life Namie-chan is interested in is her dear brother's. We really shouldn't offend her by going on and on about how you had me sprawled out on her desk and were drilling me up the ass with a...." There's a clatter, Namie's chair skidding back a foot as she quickly pushes herself away from her desk and Izaya flashes a wicked sort of smile even as Tsukumoya shakes his head.

"He's lying. It was just on the floor in front of the window and there were no foreign objects involved. The other five times we were in his room."

"Because that's _so_ much better to think about." Lifting her chin slightly Namie visibly composes herself once more and wheels her chair forward again before shooting a glare at her still smirking employer. "Just do me a favour and don't bother regaling me with what further levels of depravity you can sink to. I'm really not interested."

"Are you sure? It could be considered interesting from a scientific standpoint. Given how utterly inhuman Tsukumoya is he has to get _quite_ creative. Did you know he doesn't hav...."

"She's not interested, Orihara," Tsukumoya cuts in, shooting a warning glance in Izaya's direction that is met with an obnoxiously smug smile.

"Feeling modest all of a sudden?"

"I've never been the sort to reveal all when it doesn't need to be. And it _really_ doesn't need to be."

"Ah, fine, fine. You're both spoilsports." Izaya gives his chair one quick spin so he's facing the window before going back to idly swiveling from side to side. "It looks nice out. Far too nice to sit around in here all day. I think I'll go out. You're coming with me!" Grinning Izaya spins around again, once again pointing at Tsukumoya who simply levels an entirely disinterested look in his direction.

"I don't think so."

"Don't be like that. You could use the fresh air."

"I don't breathe, what do I need fresh air for? Not to mention I _am_ hiding out here. I don't think wandering around with you in public is really in my best interests."

"It's been a week. By this point they're likely starting to think that you've managed to completely give them the slip and are probably widening their search. They won't expect you to surface so close to where you escaped from and the odds of being spotted and recognized by anyone actually dangerous to you are low. Besides...." Izaya smiles, sharp and cold. "You need to buy some new clothes. I don't feel like having you lounging around wearing my pyjamas constantly."

"It's your fault I'm wearing them to begin with."

"Which is just an indication that you need more than one thing to wear. Come on, Tsukumoya!" Izaya smoothly stands and turns back towards the window, his arms spread wide. "Get dressed properly and let's go. It's time you went and communed with the city you're so fond of."


	8. Chapter 8

The outing is delayed with a brief argument over the social acceptability of wearing pyjama pants in public (Tsukumoya doesn't see what difference it makes, they're still _pants_ , but Izaya insists he change anyway refusing to be seen anywhere with him otherwise) and Namie is clearly amused by the entire display. Tsukumoya eventually relenting with a roll of his eyes and a muttered, "I don't even know _why_ I'm indulging you. You're the one who wants to go out, not me."

He ends up grabbing a pair of Izaya's jeans and Namie lets out a sharp laugh when he walks back into the office. Composing herself quickly enough after a deadly glance from Izaya although she's still smirking when she comments, "It's adorable. You two look like one of those couples that go around in matching outfits."

"Just remember who signs your paycheques. You wouldn't want to irritate me too much, Namie-chan~" Izaya's face twists into a highly unpleasant smile as he slides on his jacket and motions for Tsukumoya to follow. The later simply rolling his eyes heavenward as he does so, deciding that the less he complains the sooner this will be over and done with.

"You know," Tsukumoya begins while they wait for the elevator, "you _are_ the one who insisted I change knowing full well that I the only options I have are going to come from your minimal wardrobe. It's hardly my or Namie's fault that you own a dozen pairs of nearly identical designer jeans and not much else."

"I have a very specific sense of style. Something you clearly don't understand at all."

"Whatever. Let's just get this over wi...." He pauses, as if suddenly realizing exactly who he's talking to and what the likely outcome of this trip is going to be. "You're going to drag me all the way to Ikebukuro, aren't you?"

"Ah, Tsukumoya, you say that like you find the idea distasteful. I thought it would be for the best. I know it's the place nearest and dearest to whatever you have that passes for a heart."

"I have no real issues with it, other than the fact that it's likely you'll get into a fight with Shizuo and draw far more attention to the pair of us than I'd like."

"And if I assure you that I won't instigate a fight with that protozoan?"

"I won't believe you because your existence _alone_ is enough to instigate a fight."

"Well that's hardly my fault. I certainly can't control Shizu-chan's beastly nature. He's aggravatingly unpredictable that way."

"We could just not go."

"Now where's the fun in that, hmm?~"

Tsukumoya doesn't respond beyond a vague sort of grumble and the rest of the trip is predominantly silent save for occasional tangents on Izaya's part. Izaya is seemingly incapable of being quiet for any amount of time. Poking at his phone and chattering happily the entire trip even as Tsukumoya spends most of his time carefully checking over his shoulder.

"You realize if you _act_ paranoid you're simply going to draw all that unwanted attention you're so concerned about."

"Forgive me for not wanting to wind up someone's experiment again."

"You worry too much."

"I'm out in public with you. There's a part of me that's convinced I'm not worrying enough. You aren't very high on the list of people to be trusted."

"Now that just hurts, Tsukumoya." Izaya tucks his phone away and presses his hand against his chest over some imagined wound. "Here I am being nothing but accommodating and you think, what? That I'm just setting you up for some fall that I'm orchestrating?"

"Considering that you're only being accommodating because I'm _paying you_ , I don't think it's much of a stretch. Especially given your character." He shoots Izaya a cool look. "You do make a habit of screwing with people."

"Ah, but you're forgetting something, Tsukumoya~" Izaya purrs, his arm coiling around Tsukumoya's shoulder in a parody of friendship. "Or maybe you're just willfully ignoring the most important word in that sentence. 'People.' I'm only interested in testing the limits of _people_."

"So you're saying I don't have to be concerned about your swift but inevitable betrayal because you don't consider me a human being."

"Exactly."

"I can't say I find that particularly comforting. Or entirely believable."

"Fine. Think the worst of me. I suppose I've gotten used to it."

"Oh don't give me that wounded innocent act. You're, by most standards, a horrible person and not only are you well aware of this fact, you revel in it." He shrugs a little, trying to shake loose Izaya's arm. "And let go of me before people start to think we're dating."

"So last night was nothing more than a one-night fling? How heartbreaking. Not that I'd expect a machine to be capable of extended amounts of affection."

"I didn't think you'd want to accept any kind of affection from something as _inhuman_ as me. Especially given how cranky you got whenever I had you flat on your back. Oh, wait!" Tsukumoya snaps his fingers. "You're only like that when I have you on the defensive. Maybe I should drag you into an alley and we can see how many times I can make you come again."

"I'd rather not get involved in something so sordid as public sex. Especially in an alley. _Really_ , Tsukumoya. I'd think you could come up with better."

"How about a changing room then?"

Izaya opens his mouth to speak then suddenly tenses, smoothly throwing his body to the right and taking Tsukumoya with him. Tsukumoya finding himself pressed between Izaya and a nearby wall while a street sign impales the spot where they'd just been standing.

"I _told_ you this was going to happen."

"Ah, but that's half the fun, isn't it? Shizu-chan, what's wrong?" Izaya calls out as he steps away from the wall and turns to face the glowering blond charging up the street behind them. "Don't tell me you're jealous."

"You know damn well what's wrong. How many times have I told you to stay the hell away from here, flea?"

"Am I supposed to be keeping track for you? Can't you manage to count that high on your own? Not that I can say I'm surprised." Izaya's hands slide into his pockets and he aims a vicious sort of smile in Shizuo's direction. Tsukumoya giving his head a small shake as he watches them.

"Is this going to take long? It's bad enough Orihara dragged me out here when I _told_ him I didn't want to put up with this sort of thing. We have things to do and I'd rather not be waiting around while you two run all over the city trying to kill each other."

Shizuo pauses in his advance, his head tilting to the side slightly as if he's only just noticed Tsukumoya's presence. "Who the hell are you?"

"Ah, I suppose I didn't introduce myself properly last time. I _was_ under a bit of stress, but even still I should probably apologize." He inclines his head slightly in Shizuo's direction. "Tsukumoya Shinichi. It's a pleasure, despite the fact that we only seem to cross paths when you're out to murder Orihara."

"You making fun of me?"

"Of course not! I'm well aware of what you're capable of and I definitely don't want to get on your bad side. It's in my best interests to be polite."

"Now I remember. You're the one who's as bad as the flea."

"Not intentionally, I assure you." He puts up his hands and steps back slightly. "Please, believe me when I say that the _last_ thing I want is to be anything like Orihara. The fact that I'm stuck borrowing his clothes notwithstanding."

"Ah, so you're that much of a coward, Tsukumoya~?" Izaya flashes a smile, drawing all the attention back to him with that taunt and Tsukumoya simply shrugs in response. "You're as much of a monster as Shizu-chan, why back down?"

"I'm not the most coordinated thing at the moment, if you'll recall. Besides, I have no quarrel with Heiwajima-san. If anything, I'll just leave the two of you to it." He gives a little wave as he turns away. "I'll see you back at the office, Orihara. Try not to get beaten up too much."

"But what about... ack!"

Whatever Izaya had been about to say is cut off as whatever thin thread that had been holding Shizuo's temper in check finally snaps and he takes a swing at the informant. Tsukumoya shooting a sharp smile over his shoulder as he briefly glances back.

"Don't worry about it. I lifted your wallet while you were so intent on cuddling up to me. I'll take care of my shopping. You have your... fun."

"You assho... dammit!" Izaya darts back out of Shizuo's reach, entirely aware of the fact that keeping his attention split like this is only going to result in problems. "You'd better watch yourself when I get back!"

Tsukumoya cheerfully ignores him, already out of earshot.


	9. Chapter 9

**[chatroom]**

_Orihara Izaya, reborn!_

_Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
What do you think you're doing?

 _Orihara Izaya_  
I've been trying to complain at you for twenty minutes now. *Apparently* this is the only way I can get your attention.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
It's bad enough that you stole my wallet and left me to deal with that mindless brute on my own. You have the gall to ignore me on top of that.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Orihara, I'm busy. I don't feel like putting up with you whining about things that you ultimately bring upon yourself.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
I need to keep an eye on this room for various reasons, the least of which being that someone managed to attack me and kidnap me from out of here.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Can it really be called "kidnapping"?

 _Orihara Izaya_  
I'd go with "downloading" myself.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
I'm not in the mood for splitting hairs, Orihara, get out.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
I just don't understand what you're thinking here.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Is the plan that if you make it seem like you're back to business as usual you'll bait them into trying again and you can figure out where the breach came from?

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Because I'm not sure if *anyone* will fall for something like that.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
What you think is hardly relevant. Get out.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Also you're sitting right next to me on the couch. This is ridiculous.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
And yet you keep responding this way~

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Force of habit.

...

 _Orihara Izaya_  
I cannot believe you just kicked me.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Get your feet off the couch.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
They're on your lap, not your precious couch. And no. Get out of my chatroom.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Make me.

_\---disconnected---_

...

...

...

_Orihara Izaya, reborn!_

_Orihara Izaya_  
Cute.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
You told me to make you. Next time I'm locking you out.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
And stop pushing at my feet.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Then get them off my lap.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Not until you get out of my chatroom.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Your plan is idiotic. It's not going to work. My being here doesn't make the slightest bit of difference.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Besides, if you're trying to act like it's business as usual then why shouldn't I show up?

 _Orihara Izaya_  
My appearance here isn't unusual in the least. Your reaction to it is more unusual than anything.

...

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
You may have a point.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Maybe.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Now aren't any of those other little victims of yours that you like to torment online?

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Not at the moment.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Poor thing. It must be so hard suddenly not being able to spy on every chatroom without anyone knowing. Why if you want to see my little room you'll actually have to log in now.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Just to show how kind I am I'll give you the password~

 _Orihara Izaya_  
I suggest you come up with an appropriate alias.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Wait. Better idea. I'll just make up an ID for you!

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
I'm going to regret this, aren't I?

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Nonsense. I have something perfect in mind. It couldn't be more you.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Whatever. Do what you like, you always do.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Just stop making a nuisance of yourself. I still have a mess of code to untangle before I can figure out what happened here and it's much slower for me this way than what I'm used to. I definitely don't need the distraction.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Fine.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
You're no fun like this anyway.

...

...

...

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Orihara, get your tongue out of my ear before I rip it out.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
You're still replying in here! I don't believe it!

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
So are you!

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Only because you are.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Interesting how your instinct is to interact through a filter, isn't it?

 

Tsukumoya frowns, his fingers already typing a reply when his laptop is suddenly yanked away and shoved out of reach next to Izaya's. His immediate instinct to get up, grab it, and get the hell away from Izaya since otherwise he's likely to never have any peace. Except Izaya is already on the move, squirming around so Tsukumoya is pinned to the couch, and Tsukumoya's eyes narrow dangerously in the face of Izaya's smug smile.

"Dammit, Orihara! I told you I have things to...."

"So you say. But you've been at it for over a week now and still nothing. Maybe you'll never figure it out. Monster or not, in a way you've been brought down to the level of mere mortals, haven't you? After all, in there...." Izaya gives a vague nod towards the now ignored pair of laptops that have been shoved to the floor. "In there you were aware of everything. You could watch anyone. You admit that you don't know the secrets of their souls, but you know all the secrets they tell others in confidence. In private chats and emails. Unseen, all knowing, and everywhere. Tell me, Tsukumoya, did you ever consider yourself a god?"

"I never thought about it." He gives a vague sort of shrug, the movement still not quite natural looking if it's observed too closely. "Unlike some I've never had that sort of inflated opinion of myself."

Izaya lets out a small puff of laughter at that and Tsukumoya jabs him in the side to quiet him before continuing. "I think the real question here, given that you're one of the few I talked to in there who was aware of just how knowledgeable I am, is: are you looking to be my prophet? I~za~ya~"

The name is a drawn out hiss next to Izaya's ear and he smiles, the expression sharp and dangerous. Izaya eventually turning his head just slightly, just enough that their lips are inches apart.

"Now we both know my goals are loftier than that. If you're the god in the machine then I'll be the god out here."

"Think whatever you like about yourself, but don't call me that. It's asinine."

"But isn't that what you are?" A cold smile twists Izaya's lips and he presses their foreheads together. "I think I like it, if only because you don't."

"Of course you do. You're childish that way. Now get off. I have things to do." Tsukumoya easily gives Izaya's shoulders a small shove and Izaya leans back with a laugh, although he still doesn't quite move far enough to let Tsukumoya up. Still smiling viciously as he straddles Tsukumoya's hips.

"I have to wonder, just how _are_ you going about this? Do you have a little list of all the people you deal with that you're carefully combing through, looking for a potential traitor? Have I been completely exonerated yet, or are you still eying me with a small amount of suspicion."

"I'd be an idiot not to. Rest assured I have my methods. That's all you need to know." He slides his hands up to rest on Izaya's hips. "Now. Get off or I'm going to pitch you on the floor."

"Ah, is Tsukumoya really that fond of doing it on the floor~? I suppose since you're not like an actual person who has to worry about hurting your back or any...."

Izaya lets out a small yelp as Tsukumoya follows through on his threat. A slightly sardonic smile twisting his lips as he watches Tsukumoya shift to a sitting position and retrieve his laptop. Those long fingers immediately back to flying across the keys.

"For the record, I'm locking you out of my chatroom until this is over. I really don't need the distraction and in retrospect, I'm not sure if our alluding to my current whereabouts in there was a good idea."

"Are you saying you think someone could be watching the watcher?"

"I'm _saying_ that I'm not quite sure yet and I don't want to risk things any further."

"Interesting." Izaya stretches and smoothly gets to his feet, moving so he can peer over Tsukumoya's shoulder. "I have to say I'm almost jealous of whoever managed to do this to you. And in such a way that you have no idea how or why it happened. It's only fair to see you scrambling about in the dark after the number of times you've left others in the same situation."

"I've always made it clear that it's not my place to tell all. It's ridiculous of you to continually harp on that fact."

"Yes, you've made it entirely clear. And it's equally clear that you simply use that cageyness as an excuse to toy with everyone."

Tsukumoya's head snaps up at that, his eyes narrowing as he twists around to look at Izaya. "Excuse me?"

"Admit it, Tsukumoya. Everyone you let into that little room of yours, you play all of us against each other."

"I do not _play_ anyone!" he snaps, hands clenching tightly, and it's so tempting to swing and see if he could break Izaya's face against his fist. "I don't get involved in things. That means I don't play favourites. That _means_ I'll give certain details about things that have long since occurred to whoever asks. Clarification of the past does nothing."

"Touchy~ I'd almost think you were feeling a little defensive. Because sometimes it does. You can't know every outcome. It's impossible to know a hundred percent of a person's heart and you don't even try to understand the tiniest fraction of that. You give cold, basic, facts and smugly assure yourself that you couldn't have influenced anyone. Facts are facts, after all. You're not colouring them with your own opinions. You're not pushing anyone one way or the other.

"Facts are powerful things, though. We both know and understand this, which makes your willful blindness in this area terribly amusing. You can tell yourself there's no harm done in recounting the past, but the past is the most powerful force in the world. It shapes and pulls at everything. _You_ pull at everything."

"I don't play with people." His voice a little softer this time and he assures himself that it's not uncertain. "I'm not _you_."

"No. You're worse. I at least have reasons. Selfish reasons, but they're mine and very human in that regard. As opposed to you. You're an unfeeling thing that shouldn't be. The god in the machine dolling out forbidden knowledge simply because it can. And it's all finally wrapped around and bitten you. Someone got sick of you informing for every side and decided to take you out."

"Once again I think you have my life confused with yours."

"It's the life of _any_ professional informant, Tsukumoya. Don't pretend that's not what you are. And now just like I did you have people who aren't happy with the way you play things. Neutrality carries its own dangers." Izaya smiles, the expression almost seeming like he's baring his teeth. "If you're perfectly neutral you piss _everyone_ off."

Izaya gives another lazy sort of stretch and strolls back to his desk, smiling thoughtfully as he sinks into his chair. "So. Presumably the chain of events goes along the lines of: someone who has access to your room, who is incidentally not me but I'll assume you're already aware of that, grows tired of the fact that you don't play favourites. This unnamed person somehow managed to do enough digging to gather at least the slightest inkling of your true nature. They then set out feelers to see who might be interested in something as... unusual as you are and proceeded to hand over the login information to your chatroom,"

"Close, but as usual you don't quite have all the facts."

"Oh?"

"Yes. And I'm not about to tell you what I do know."

"Oh please. You're actually going to try and put up some kind of weak charade insisting that you know precisely what's going on now? If anything the fact that someone managed to get the drop on you only proves that the god in the machine has a blind spot."

"I told you to stop calling me that!"

"And I told you I like it." Izaya's hand gives a dismissive little flick as he turns away. "Keep insisting that you're completely on top of things, Tsukumoya. We both know the truth. Out here you're nothing but a mere mortal, scrambling to keep on top of things just like the rest of us. And maybe in there you were too, just in a different way."

Tsukumoya says nothing, focusing all his attention back on the screen in front of him.


	10. Chapter 10

Over the next day or so everything returns to the same edgy sort of status quo. Tsukumoya sticks to the office at all hours of the day, buried in his chatroom and various other things. Although mostly his mind keeps returning to one simple fact:

Even if he _does_ manage to find out what happened and who is responsible, it's hard to say now just how much of a difference it will make. He's still effectively on the run and in hiding and finding whoever is responsible for setting him up will do very little change that.

Of course, there's always the possibility that after enough time has passed Nebula will eventually forget about him. But that could take years, and the thought of being stuck living with Orihara for what could turn into the rest of the man's life is....

Well, truthfully he's not sure. Aggravating might be a good word for it. It's certainly not something he particularly _wants_ to deal with even if there are occasional positive aspects. That and no matter how used to it he is becoming he simply doesn't like the thought of being trapped this way. In a world that he doesn't consider his and a body that is entirely limited when compared to what he is used to.

It's why, when he's not digging around in his chatroom, he's sifting through Izaya's files, looking for some leverage. If need be he'll buy his way out of this situation. It's not ideal; it still mostly leaves him open to the sort of risk he doesn't enjoy thinking about. But for the moment it's the only solid plan he has.

And Izaya, for the most part, has started leaving him alone while he works.

For the most part.

"What are you up to?" Tsukumoya's eyes narrow slightly when he glances up from the filing cabinet he'd been poking through to find Izaya strolling up behind him, looking far too pleased with himself for it to _not_ be worrisome.

"Ah, nothing, nothing. Don't be so paranoid, Tsukumoya."

"I have an excellent reason to be." One of his brows arch as the fact registers that, along with trying far too hard to appear innocent, Izaya is clearly wandering around carrying weapons. Not that this is anywhere near unusual. "Do I even _want_ to know why you're carrying a taser around the office?"

"For an experiment of course!" Izaya's smile is almost manic as he presses the taser to the center of Tsukumoya's back. Had he placed it anywhere else it's hard to say what would have happened. Perhaps it would have done nothing; perhaps it would have caused problems with Tsukumoya's movement or locked up his limbs for a while. What would have happened otherwise isn't important however, because Izaya knew just which point he wanted to aim for. His fingers had brushed against the indent of exposed metal on Tsukumoya's spine late at night while his fingers had been clawing at that pale, too-smooth, back.

He had a feeling that that this spot is the closest thing to a direct connection to where Tsukumoya's consciousness is. Ultimately curious as to what would happen if he applied the right kind of interference. Deciding that an electric charge is the best way to go about it and he makes sure the voltage he uses is somewhat low. Tsukumoya is too useful on occasion to carelessly damage for the sake of curiosity even if the response is an interesting one. Izaya's smile not fading as he watches Tsukumoya's body go rigid and pitch forward against the filing cabinet. His mouth open in a silent scream as his eyes slip closed.

It looks almost like an orgasm, and it's terribly amusing.

Tsukumoya's entire body is shaking when Izaya lets off and the look shot in his direction is as close to murderous as the thing can manage. Izaya smiling cheerfully in response and he purrs, "What did it feel like, Tsukumoya? Pleasure? Pain? Maybe a little bit of both?"

"Never do that again."

"Ah, but you looked like you enjoyed it. Maybe we should try again." He turns the taser over in his hands a few times. "And with a slightly higher setting next time, hmm?"

"I swear I'll tear you apart if you try."

"Don't be so dramatic. It wasn't even that strong of a charge to begin with. You're telling me that it didn't feel even a little bit good? From where I was standing it looked like I finally managed to get to you."

"Dammit, Orihara...."

"You made the face I wanted to see on you while we were in bed. Something twisted up and desperate. Something that isn't that damn cold mask." There's another deft movement on Izaya's part, Tsukumoya's own movements still too clumsy from the first jolt to stop him and soon enough the taser is pressed to Tsukumoya's back a second time. The reaction similar to the first.

The difference is, when Izaya lets off the button this time Tsukumoya is a little more ready. His hand clumsily clamping around Izaya's wrist, squeezing until the taser drops to the floor with a clatter.

"You're getting off on this."

"You claim to get off on watching me come, it's only fair." Izaya presses in close, his lips brushing against the side of Tsukumoya's neck. "Ah, if only it wasn't so dangerous to have something like that handy in bed. Monsters like you have such strange sex toys~"

"You're not nearly as cute and charming as you think you are, Orihara."

"Aren't I?"

The only response is a sneer and then Tsukumoya's lips are crushing against Izaya's. Vicious and bruising as Izaya is pushed back against the filing cabinet with a clatter and long fingered hands fumble at his belt and zipper. An edgy laugh tearing its way free from Izaya's throat when Tsukumoya's hand wraps around his cock.

"Now this isn't quite the reaction I expected."

"Shut up."

"You never answered my question. Did it feel good?"

There's no reply at first. No sound beyond Izaya's breath starting to come in quick, uneven, gasps and the dull metallic thud when he tilts his head back a little too sharply and it bumps the cabinet he's pressed against. His fingers coiling in the awful, cheap, fabric of Tsukumoya's shirt and for a moment he figures he's not going to get a response at all until Tsukumoya murmurs next to his ear.

"I don't know."

"How...fuck...how can you not know if it feels...guh...ah...good?"

"There's not much I have to compare it to. Better or worse than a neutral state in this body? I'm not sure. Better or worse than what Nebula was doing to me before I escaped? Definitely better, there's not much that could be worse than that. Better or worse than the way I felt before all this started? Well, using that as a point of reference everything is worse. You have twenty-five years of human experience plus natural instinct to help your brain differentiate between pleasure and pain and the type of pain that might very well be pleasurable. I'm not quite wired that way. So no, I don't know. I don't have enough data points to make any sort of conclusion one way or the other."

Silence falls again, Izaya studying Tsukumoya's impassive face through half-lidded eyes, his breathing harsh while Tsukumoya's cool hand slides up and down his cock.

"You're... you're far too... calculating." A lazy smile curves Izaya's lips, his eyes sliding closed as he tilts his head back again. Content for the moment to do nothing more than _feel_. "Not that I expect better."

"You shouldn't. I've never pretended otherwise."

Izaya groans a little, his hips reflexively jerking forward into every stroke and after a moment Tsukumoya's free hand slides down to settle against his hipbone. The touch firm and steady and holding him still, causing Izaya to hiss a little in frustration and spit, "Control freak."

"You're one to talk." Tsukumoya's voice is back to that cool, even, distance and Izaya hisses again, his hands sliding up to tug at glossy hair even though he's well aware _that_ won't win him the reaction he wants.

"At least...ah.... I know your weak spot now. I know how to make you...."

Izaya's voice trails off into a needy sort of whine as Tsukumoya shifts his grip slightly and _squeezes_ , just a little. Just in the right spot to make his vision swim and his hips (attempt to) buck and his hands clutch helplessly at Tsukumoya's hair.

"I know how to make you react too, Orihara. And you have far more little notches in your armor than I have in mine." He smiles against the side of Izaya's neck, teeth scraping skin, and adjusts the speed of his strokes with every helpless twitch of Izaya's body. Teasing him ever so slowly towards the edge but never over. Always pulling back just a bit before Izaya loses it, squeezing the base of his cock when he's a little too far gone and physically holding him back. That action drawing the most wonderfully needy little whine from Izaya's throat.

"Dammit...just...just let me...nnnn...."

"Say please, Orihara~"

"Fuck you! Ah!..."

"I can do this all day, you know." He gives Izaya's cock another gentle squeeze, his thumb tracing featherlight up the vein and Izaya's entire body sags forward, his legs nearly giving out from under him. Voice hoarse and desperate.

"Fuck...I hate..."

"Just say please. That's all you have to do."

"I hate...fuck...I.... Please. Please just...let me...."

Tsukumoya eases his grip, his hand sliding expertly up Izaya's cock, thumb sweeping lazily over the head, and the noise Izaya makes is something like a strangled scream. The sound muffled against the side of Tsukumoya's neck as Izaya's head flops forward. His entire body shaking when he comes and the only thing stopping him from collapsing to a heap on the floor is Tsukumoya's arm around his waist.

"And _that_ , Orihara, is a reaction."

Izaya is a mess of shaky limbs and Tsukumoya wonders if he's going to have to throw the man over one of his shoulders to get him to the bedroom. It's an interesting mental image and an entirely tempting one even if Izaya would likely complain bitterly once he manages to gather his wits enough to do so. Tsukumoya just starting to shift his grip slightly to do just that when Izaya manages to get his feet back under him and presses their lips together, sucking eagerly at Tsukumoya's tongue.

"Are you looking for round two already?" Tsukumoya murmurs when Izaya leans back with a lick of his lips and a far too sharp smile. The slightest of laughs escaping his throat and his fingers slide through Tsukumoya's hair when he replies.

"I'm looking to distract you enough to get my hands back on that taser."

"Well now you've just gone and warned me." Tsukumoya's eyes dart towards the taser lying next to their feet and he gives it a small kick to the side. Sending it skittering across the floor, much to Izaya's amusement.

"You honestly think that's the only one I have?"

"So the current game is to keep you occupied enough that you don't get your hands on another one?" Tsukumoya smiles and leans in close enough for his lips to graze Izaya's ear. "Sounds interesting."

"You're not going to get all tedious and predictable on me are you, Tsukumoya? It seems likely to me that you've exhausted your options given what you lack physically."

"That was before I went shopping."

"You went shopping for _sex toys_ after taking my wallet?" Izaya's face scrunches into an aggravated frown and Tsukumoya can't help but laugh at the expression.

"Oh please. Stop trying to act like you're not intrigued."

"I'm mostly wondering about your priorities." Izaya's expression shifts into an entirely sardonic smirk and his fingers absently pluck at the front of Tsukumoya's shirt, a cheap, garishly striped thing. "Especially when the intent was to buy a decent wardrobe. Now at least I know what you spent the bulk of time and money on."

"You're saying sex over fashion is a poor decision?"

"It's a curious one considering that I still doubt the fact that you feel anything even remotely like arousal."

"Maybe. But in all fairness I'm not particularly interested in fashion either. Sex at least makes for a more interesting first-hand study."

Izaya laughs, leaning in close enough for his lips to brush against Tsukumoya's ear. "Well, game on then. And the advantage will go to whoever gets their hands on their particular 'toy' first."

"Wrong. I already have a clear advantage."

"Oh?"

"You have a weakness for me, Orihara. You _want_ to know what I might have up my sleeve. And you know whatever it is you're going to enjoy it."

"Oh plea...."

Izaya's sentence is cut short, Tsukumoya making his move and attempting to heave Izaya into his arms. Something made all the more awkward by the way Izaya immediately starts kicking and squirming in response. "Don't even think about.... Put me down!"

"I just think this will be more comfortable in the bedroom. Now stop struggling."

They're close enough in height that it's awkward, Izaya eventually kicking enough that Tsukumoya drops him about halfway there. "I am perfectly capable of _walking_ , you know. You really are a spectacular failure when it comes to every possible kind of seduction technique."

"Would you even cooperate if I didn't attempt to haul you there? I'm well aware of how contrary you can be, Orihara. Especially since you don't like to admit to your weaknesses." Tsukumoya reaches out, his fingers hooking under Izaya's chin. "And we both know I'm your weakness."

"Now I'm tempted to cooperate just to prove you wrong." Izaya slaps Tsukumoya's hand away when it seems like the other is intent on trying to pick him up again. "Honestly. I'll go to the bedroom under my own power if you're going to be so insistent about this. Just spare me the gloating. I want to settle this for now. That's all."

"And you want to know just what it is I bought for us to play with."

Izaya pauses at the door to the bedroom and shoots a sharp smile over one shoulder. "I have to say I'm curious."

Tsukumoya laughs, pressing a quick kiss against the side of Izaya's neck and hissing, "Strip. You'll find out soon enough."

"Bossy~" With a shake of his head Izaya strolls into the room, shedding clothing as he goes and attempting to keep an eye on what Tsukumoya is up to. "And clearly I should have snooped through those things you bought. To think I could have known about this...."

He pauses at the sensation of something clamping down on his left wrist and one of his brows lift slightly at the sight of the cuff tightly fastened there and the all too smug smile curving Tsukumoya's lips.

"Handcuffs, Tsukumoya? Really?"

"It's easier than trying to hold you down long enough to tie you up. Now say 'thank you' for the fact that I was kind enough to get you padded ones."

"How about... ow!" Izaya can't quite stop the yelp that escapes when Tsukumoya wrenches his arm behind him, quite obviously looking to cuff his hands behind his back. Izaya almost immediately making an attempt to pull himself free and the pair of them collapse awkwardly into the bed as he keeps trying to break loose from what is effectively a machine's strength.

It's such an easy thing to forget sometimes. Not the fact that Tsukumoya isn't human, Izaya will never forget that and he'll never let Tsukumoya forget it either, but the fact that his unnatural body has its own set of advantages to balance out the disadvantages.

He stops struggling when the other cuff clicks into place, aiming a glare over his shoulder in Tsukumoya's direction. One that is quickly blocked by a blindfold and he starts to snap, "Are you _serious_ ," when a gag is jammed into his mouth as well, leaving him effectively unable to fight back on every level. Unable to fight back and all too aware of the way that Tsukumoya's hands are smoothing slowly up his sides then down his back in steady, even, strokes.

"Exactly how I want you. Face down with that lovely little ass of yours in the air."

For too long there is nothing. Just the sound of his own breathing and his pulse thundering in his ears while Tsukumoya's hands slide cool and steady over his skin. The touch slow and maddening and more than enough to leave Izaya groaning around his gag and squirming, as much as he hates himself for it. An uncomfortable ache already spreading through his shoulders from the awkwardness of having his hands bound behind his back.

His whole body reflexively twitches when one of Tsukumoya's fingers teases over his opening and he lets out yet another ragged groan. His body arching back against the touch and Tsukumoya laughs, his fingers dancing lightly across Izaya's skin.

"I was trying to decide if I should put a cock ring on you too. But then I decided against it. I _want_ you to come. Over and over again. Until you're dry and screaming for me to stop."

The bed shifts a little and instinctively Izaya twists his head around in some vain attempt to see what's going on, even though he can't. Hyper-aware of every vague shift, every sound....

Every touch.

He groans when Tsukumoya's tongue slides down his spine. Cool. Slick (sometimes he wonders at the mechanics of it but not right now, god, not right now.) A featherlight touch that leaves him squirming as it slides down his back. Lower. And lower.

Izaya moans again at the heady sensation of that tongue pushing inside him. Tongue, then a finger, then tongue again, pushing him to the edge before pulling back and leaving him a needy, squirming mess.

Tsukumoya is just _too_ damn good at this.

"I think you're going to like this, Orihara."

There's one last slow lick and Izaya shivers a bit as Tsukumoya's finger traces the edge of his hole. His mind a humming mess of sensation, barely aware when that finger moves aside just enough for something else to push inside him. Smooth and cool and round, slick with lubricant and surprising enough that he whimpers a bit at the sensation. Although it isn't until it's followed by another, and another, and _another_ that he realizes exactly what Tsukumoya is up to.

Beads. One after another, slow and steady. Pushing inside and filling him up, exquisite pressure that makes his back arch at first. His mind a mess of, _so good so good sogoodmoreIneed...._ A hissing loop of desperation and unconsciously he tries to shift his body to take as much as possible. His face pressing into the mattress and he angles his hips up, silently begging for more. And more. And more.

More... until he reaches the breaking point because Tsukumoya doesn't _stop_ and the muffled moans Izaya is making behind his gag soon enough shift to a needy sort of keening. Desperate for release from the heady edge of pleasurepain and in some far flung corner of his mind that is still clinging to the tiniest bit of lucidity he wonders how long of a string Tsukumoya even bought.

"Just a little bit more, Orihara. You can take it all. I know you. You love being filled up like this. Just three...."

_I can't Ican'tIcan't_

"...two..."

_nononononononononoithurtsit'stoomuchohgodnomore_

"...one."

He hates that smug son of a bitch. Hates hates hateshateshateshates that it feels so good and he's so hard and if Tsukumoya even so much as _looks_ at his dick right now he's going to come and oh god why won't he just do that?

_just let me come just let me justletmejustletmecomeIneedIneedIneed..._

Those hands come back. Too cool and steady because nothing affects the bastard even though Izaya is a desperate, trembling, mess. Carefully sliding down his sides and over his hips, rolling him onto his back, and _not touching his dick. why why won't you why won't youwhywhywhy_.

"I could watch you like this all day, Orihara. Flushed and panting." One cool fingertip slides down Izaya's chest and over his belly, eventually settling in to trace around his navel. "You're just on the edge, aren't you? The slightest touch would push you over."

Those long fingers dance away again and Izaya's entire body goes tense, waiting, because even though he can't see he _knows_ Tsukumoya is up to something.

"Just the slightest...."

Then he feels it. The slightest of tugs on the end of that string of beads. The slightest of tugs that does nothing but tease and sends a shock all the way up his spine and along every single nerve. Making his body arch off the bed and he's dripping with sweat and nearly sobbing underneath the blindfold and gag, wanting to scream and scream and jerk himself off and then maybe find that goddamn taser and turn Tsukumoya into a desperate, shaking, needy, _thing_ while he watches.

"...touch."

That hand. That damnable too-cool and steady hand _finally_ wraps around his cock just as the first bead slides out and Izaya's mind goes numb. Everything lost in a haze of heat and sensation as he comes and that maddening pressure eases. His entire body jerking every time another bead pops free.

He's barely able to think when the last crashing wave of sensation fades away. Entire body still trembling and his chest heaves while he struggles to catch his breath. Tsukumoya letting out a small chuckle next to his ear, "That's one. Or technically two, I suppose. But let's not count the opening salvo in the office. It's better to stay focused on here and now and just how creative I can be. Don't you think?"

Izaya's only response is to let out a ragged groan as Tsukumoya's fingers thread through his sweat-damp hair.


	11. Chapter 11

Izaya is somewhere on the edge of consciousness when he feels the bed shift again and a hand lightly strokes his cheek before moving away, his head instinctively moving towards the touch.

"Ready for more, Orihara? I'm not quite done with you. Ah, not that you have much of a choice, I suppose."

He groans a little, wishing he could stretch (his arms numb from being bound behind him for so long) and shove at Tsukumoya and tell him off, trying at the very least to roll away and Tsukumoya laughs. His hands back to sliding over Izaya's skin and guiding the informant right back to where he wants him.

"Don't be so uncooperative. This next part will be even better. I promise." A hand skims lightly over Izaya's thigh before sliding between his legs and pushing up inside him. The sensation enough to make Izaya hiss as best he can while gagged and try to twist away again. His entire body humming with awareness, every single nerve on edge.

There's no sound beyond the muffled little gasping grunts that Izaya makes at every movement of Tsukumoya's fingers and Izaya wishes he could rip away the gag and bare his teeth and make some cutting remark about how Tsukumoya clearly isn't as creative as he thinks he is (anal beads notwithstanding) given that he's falling back into the same old routine.

Then Tsukumoya's fingers move away, replaced by the thick pressure of a dildo pressing into him and all those verbal daggers he wishes he could throw melt away into a wash of pleasure that leaves his head spinning. It's big, almost too big, and Izaya groans again as his legs are cocked up onto Tsukumoya's shoulders. The movement putting far too much pressure onto his already aching shoulders and Izaya gives a half-hearted sort of kick in an attempt to break free. A kick that is simply ignored while smooth, slick, plastic pushes deeper and deeper, something that drives all thoughts of aching shoulders from Izaya's mind.

Deeper and deeper until cool, synthetic, skin is pressed flush against his thighs and Tsukumoya's hands are sliding up and along his body in long, slow, movements. His hands eventually settling at Izaya's hips as the dildo slowly begins to move in careful, shallow, thrusts.

And Izaya's mind can't quite wrap around how that even works for a moment. If both of Tsukumoya's hands are busy elsewhere then....

A strap-on. The fact is slow to register but as soon as it does Izaya wants to laugh. To snap viciously once again about Tsukumoya's lack of humanity. A fake thing that clearly wants to belong no matter how aloof he holds himself. No matter how much he claims distance and complete non-involvement. No matter how much he _insists_ he was never pretending to be human. How simply not talking about what he is isn't the same as active misdirection.

In the end it's all lies. Or perhaps it's all simply one lie. The biggest lie buried under the various "truths" that Tsukumoya shields himself with.

The lie that even he doesn't realize is a lie, because he tells it to himself and believes it so intensely.

The blindfold is suddenly pulled away and Izaya blinks a few times before Tsukumoya grabs his chin and _makes_ their eyes meet. Eyes that are glassy and false, skin far too pale and bloodless, not even the slightest sheen of sweat slicking that brow and Izaya tries to laugh through his gag even as the rest of his body betrays him. Reacting with every sharp thrust of Tsukumoya's hips.

He's close to the edge already, but even still he holds Tsukumoya's gaze. Well aware of what he must look like and all but daring him to remove the gag as well. A choked sort of laugh escaping his throat at the way Tsukumoya's tongue darts out over his lower lip.

Such a human thing to do and Izaya can't help but wonder if it was carefully calculated in some back corner of Tsukumoya's consciousness. Some part that maybe he's not even aware of. Some splinter of that monstrous mind that actively works at trying to be human. Can a consciousness capable of absorbing and retaining as much data as Tsukumoya is capable of (something that doesn't sleep, that can't dream) even _have_ something similar to a subconscious?

There are no answers and Izaya soon enough stops thinking about such things as the gag is pushed aside, Tsukumoya's mouth crushing over his and Izaya groans at the sensation of that cool tongue sliding between his lips. Bruising kisses and fingers pulling at his hair and that thick (fake fake fake) cock pressing deep. Leaving him groaning and shuddering, his mind a blur of white noise as he comes yet again (or tries to, there's really nothing left) his entire body going limp in Tsukumoya's arms.

Izaya doesn't know how long they lie there. Tsukumoya still thrusting lazily every so often while his hands skim lightly over sweat-slick skin. It's an exquisite sort of torture, with Tsukumoya clearly capable of going on and on for hours on end without stopping. A prospect that should likely be stopped before it winds up killing him.

"You want to... be like me so badly... don't you?" Izaya mumbles after a moment, a hazy sort of smile twisting his lips at the way Tsukumoya's body stills as he frowns in response. One of those expressions that is almost but not quite right. A little too stiff to be natural but the emotion meant to be conveyed is obvious. Annoyance and disbelief and disgust all rolled into one.

He's getting a little more sophisticated when it comes to that sort of thing.

"No one in their right mind would want to be you, Orihara," he hisses eventually, and Izaya laughs. Or tries to, the sound somewhat hoarse and creaky.

"You're jealous. Of me. Of humanity. You watch me react and wonder what it feels like. You're stuck in a body that's so, so, close but just not there. So you'll never know. You'll never understand. And you hate not understanding...."

Tsukumoya's expression twists again. Or perhaps more accurately it _un_ -twists. The slightly too-stiff look of annoyance melting away and shifting back into that blank, absent, mask. Cool and robotic and inhuman. His movements careless and indifferent as he pulls out (quick enough to make Izaya yelp) and flips Izaya onto his stomach. Every movement brisk and economical as he unlocks the cuffs from around Izaya's wrists and stands. Already starting to clean things up when Izaya manages to roll over.

"Taking your... 'toys' and leaving in a sulk?"

"I have things I should be doing. You distracted me... as per usual." He gives Izaya an absent shrug as he smoothly unbuckles the harness the dildo had been slotted into, letting the whole thing drop to the floor. "And I really don't feel like listening to you speculate on my motives while you're in some kind of a fuck-drunk haze."

"Because you can't admit when I'm right. No matter how much you watch... you'll never understand."

"Go to sleep, Orihara. It's obvious I've tired you out and you're not thinking straight."

Tsukumoya doesn't bother giving Izaya another look as he pads off towards the bathroom to clean up. His movements still quietly efficient even while out of Izaya's line of sight. It's easier that way, to not think about Izaya's lazy accusations at all.

He has no desire to be human. No desire beyond his life returning to normal. Izaya is simply making clumsy attempts to throw him off balance, another salvo in their never ending war of one-upmanship, and a weaker one than usual.

Not understanding things may bother him to some degree, but certainly not to the extent that Izaya seems to think.

He frowns at his reflection for a moment before forcing the expression to smooth away. These movements are unconscious now, almost natural, and that fact suddenly bothers him and leaves him feeling as strange and claustrophobic as he did on that very first night. Trapped in a too-small skin with a too-small focus.

He needs... needs....

He doesn't know, giving his head a quick shake (another unconscious movement) as he finishes wiping himself down with a damp cloth and shuts out the light.

Izaya appears to be asleep when he steps back into the bedroom for a change of clothes and Tsukumoya is quietly thankful for that. He's not in the mood to deal with that obnoxiously knowing grin any longer, no matter how far off the mark Izaya may ultimately be. Squirming into an oversized tee-shirt and a pair of sweatpants before padding back down to the office and the solace of his computers.

He tries to work for a while. Flicking through news feeds, message boards, the odd chatroom, wave after wave of data that is just _not enough_. He can only absorb what is right in front of him at any given moment, quicker than a human, certainly, but still not fast enough. He's too limited like this and for the first time in well over a week it's eating at him. Leaving him tense and jittery. He needs....

He needs... what?

To get out. He wants to break open his skull so things don't feel so small and horrifying anymore. He wants to uncoil and see and know everything again. He wants to get the hell away from Izaya because close contact with the man is clearly detrimental to his state of mind.

He had been coping and then Izaya went and tugged at one of those fragile supports holding him up, sending everything crashing back down into a spiral of panic and uneasiness.

He wants, _NEEDS_ , to go home. A need that is an agonizing sort of pressure that seethes and ripples through everything he is. Something that he can't quite quantify and he just doesn't know how to deal with it.

Scream. Run. Claw at his skin. Dig up some spare cable and try to find a way to make it work with these goddamn specialized plugs on his back because even if it tears everything he is apart in the attempt, even if he _destroys_ himself, anything is better than....

No.

It isn't.

He goes perfectly still. Closing his eyes, closing himself off from _everything_ and choking back the inevitable panic that comes with the dark and the silence and the cramped sense of nothingness. He will not tear himself apart in some clumsy, ill-planned, attempt to escape. Not thinking things through, reacting in a fit of panic, that is what got him in this mess in the first place.

He will be patient. He will find a way out.

And most of all he will not let Orihara Izaya get to him, even if it may be a tiny bit too late for that.

But for now he has to deal with this edginess. This desperate rolling panic.

He needs to get out. At the very least he needs the _illusion_ of getting out.

The slightest of smiles curves at his lips as his eyes flick open again and he quietly powers down his computers, glancing towards the window and its expansive view of the glittering Shinjuku night.

He needs the city, the rush and flow of connections around him. Even if it isn't quite right. Even if it isn't home. Even if it's potentially dangerous.

At the moment he needs it more than anything.

It's a risk, of course, but considering that he's already wandered the streets once already with no problems the risk is likely minimal. It's very possible that Izaya is right and they've expanded their search beyond the immediate area. It's possible that they believe that he's clever enough to find his way out of the country.

(and really, he _is_ , he's fluent in multiple languages and could easily whip himself up another identity, but in the end fleeing the country wouldn't be useful... although now that he's considered it he hopes that Nebula believes that he might)

Whatever the risk, the simple fact of the matter is that he can't take being inside much longer. Not tonight. A short walk to "clear his head" should hopefully be enough. To just let a mass of raw data swirl around him even if it's not quite the same and not quite home.

And maybe it should be its own kind of disconcerting that he's starting to think of the way things were in the terms of "home". Home should be a foreign concept. Something understood on a factual level that doesn't really apply to him. Not something that he honestly misses.

He forcefully shoves those kinds of thoughts from his mind as he slips on a pair of sneakers and heads out. Ten minutes. Just ten minutes worth of feeling, absorbing, quickly analyzing in a method that is as close as he can get to what he's used to. Feeling the hum of the city even at this late hour and in some ways he could live with this.

He doesn't want to.

But he supposes he could, given no other choice.

He's distracted enough by the steady pulse of the city that he doesn't notice a hand gripping the back of his shirt until he's already halfway into an alley. Off-balance and entirely unsure of how to retaliate, despite his strength, even as he shoved face-first against the nearest wall. Too stunned to move for a moment even as his eyes flick from face to face to face, his mind absorbing and assessing the situation in a fraction of a second.

They're not a gang. They're too well-groomed. Too slick and coordinated. Too deadly as one presses a silenced handgun to the side of his head (and it's an odd sort of moment because he just doesn't know what would happen if he were to get shot, if the body could hold up to a bullet, or even if it couldn't what would happen if the processers and hard drive were destroyed... could he still be salvaged or would he die?) and he freezes. Unsteady. Unsure.

Terrified?

Maybe.

Then he feels one of them prodding around at the base of his skull, moving his hair aside, and he knows, he _knows_ , what they're here to do and he doesn't care if they shoot him. He won't let them take him again, not easily. Not without fighting tooth and nail.

Even if they shoot him. Even if he's unsalvageable. Even if he _dies_ , he's not going back.

Not that he particularly knows how to fight. Every movement clumsy and awkward as he kicks and struggles and swings blindly. The already damaged joints in his shoulder grinding in protest as something slams into them (a bullet, the one with the gun clearly had the guts to shoot even in the middle of a melee) denting and warping things even more.

But he keeps swinging as best he can. Keeps swinging until there is a sickening sort of click against the back of his neck and there's nothing but that horrible, horrible, sensation of being pulled apart that he will never forget. The whole thing somehow even worse this time around and he wants to start screaming (screaming, why didn't he scream sooner that would have drawn attention) except the vocal simulations won't respond.

Nothing responds. Nothing... nothing... there's nothing but pain and every sense (every sensor) he's been aware of since diving into this body going dark on him. Putting him closer and closer to being trapped in that cramped prison of nothingness again.

Then everything goes black and silent and somewhere inside that too-small space he is still trying to scream.


	12. Chapter 12

Izaya wakes with a pleasant sort of ache in his muscles that makes him loath to get out of bed. Stiff and sore in all the right places and unsurprisingly alone.

He likes that, the fact that Tsukumoya doesn't go crawling back into bed with him. Sex has never been high on his list of priorities, more a means to an end than anything, but he's still capable of enjoying it. And as much as he hates to admit, Tsukumoya is quite good at it for an inhuman thing.

If Tsukumoya were human he would be exactly the kind of lover that Izaya could find himself getting used to having around.

Then again the point is moot because if Tsukumoya were human he likely wouldn't act and react the way he does now. No, things are fine as they stand. Even if it means that Izaya finds himself occasionally rethinking his stance on consorting with monsters.

Not completely, of course. Monsters will never truly interest him, not even ones that try as hard to be human as Tsukumoya does, but as far as a vague sort of distraction goes this particular monster is quite all right.

He casts those thoughts aside as he rises with a stretch. Shower, a light breakfast, and then straight into his plans for the day. Not that his day to day plans are ever anything quite concrete, even less so than usual at the moment, but that's what keeps life interesting.

He's smiling when he eventually wanders into the office, expecting to find Tsukumoya glued to one of his computers (and likely looking smug given the events of the previous night) and Izaya can't help the way his expression shifts to a frown of annoyance when he realizes that the room is empty, computers sitting cold and silent in that corner Tsukumoya has claimed for himself.

Even though he's completely alone Izaya pretends indifference as he wanders through the whole loft, checking to see if Tsukumoya has holed himself up somewhere else (although since when does he do _anything_ without his laptop at the very least) and attempting not to care when he notices that Tsukumoya's shoes are gone as well.

Clearly he went out. It's nothing worth a great deal of concern. He'll either be back or he won't, simple as that.

Despite instructing himself not to care (and he doesn't) Izaya still finds himself pacing irritably (not bothering to eat, but that's not really a large concern) and frowning at the door until Namie walks in at nine. Sneering a bit at his assistant's raised brow and he immediately settles back behind his desk, intent on getting some work done.

And if in the midst of that he happens to send a careful inquiry to one of his contacts at Nebula that's only because he's been doing it regularly since Tsukumoya showed up on his doorstep. It's good to keep abreast of any possible updates in this situation, that's all.

By noon he still hasn't eaten, has gone through about three cups of coffee, and is irritably tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair while he swivels back and forth in his best impersonation of a supervillain. Ultimately sighing, "Ah~ It's troublesome," and Namie finally pauses in her filing long enough to aim an irritated look in his direction.

"Since I know you're going to keep sighing and fidgeting like a five year old until I respond; what is?"

"You haven't noticed how quiet it is around here?"

"If by 'quiet' you mean 'distinct lack of a robot while you mope and pace around'? Yes. Did you and your new boyfriend have a tiff?"

Izaya's smile is tight and vicious as he replies, "There was no 'tiff'. Tsukumoya just disappeared at some point last night. Presumably he wandered off and he hasn't come back. Not that I particularly care one way or the other if he decided to leave under his own power, but it's a bit curious. Don't you think?"

"The idea that someone could get fed up with you and leave? Not at all."

"No, the idea that even if he was fed up, which I highly doubt he was, that he would put himself at risk. No matter how much we annoy one another, he still had nowhere else to go. Not to mention, he left what few material possessions he's acquired behind. I can't imagine him leaving without at the very least taking that laptop with him."

"So I assume the reason you're bothering me about this is that you're worried someone got him."

"Not 'worried'. _Curious_."

"Worried," Namie repeats simply, not even bothering to look in Izaya's direction. "You two have been practically attached at the hip since he showed up here. It would be nauseatingly adorable if it wasn't so creepy."

" _Hardly_!" Izaya's tone is utterly scandalized and Namie rolls her eyes.

"Please. You two deserve each other. Well, I'm not sure if anyone actually deserves you, but you need someone like him to keep you distracted enough that you don't continually make everyone's life a complete hell."

"Such a wonderful assessment of our relationship, Namie-chan. Really."

"You want to go run to his rescue? Do it. I don't really care about how you feel like justifying it. It's not possible for me to think any less of you anyway."

"I wasn't looking for your approval."

"I wasn't giving it. But you're going to be even more annoying than usual until you do something, so you might as well. And don't sulk," Namie adds as Izaya's face scrunches up into a mulish expression. "Just admit that you want to get involved, even if you have to tell yourself that it's only because you think it'll be fun."

"Besides." Namie smiles slightly as she slams shut the filing cabinet, leaning against it slightly. "Didn't you say something once about him being a source worth protecting? You can pretend it's just about that if you want to salvage your pride."

Izaya frowns for a bit before shrugging. Idly drawling, "I'm not sure you want to be leaning up against that, Namie-chan~" A sharp sort of smile curving his lips and Namie immediately makes a face, flinching away from the cabinet as if it suddenly scalded her.

"You're disgusting. I'm going out for lunch. A _long_ lunch."

"Ah, take the rest of the day off." Izaya gives his hand an idle flick towards the door as he leans back in his chair. "I don't think I'll need you. Actually I should be fine until Monday. Don't worry, you'll be paid and I won't even take this out of your holidays. Consider this a show of my great generosity." He turns his attention back to his computer even as one of Namie's brows lifts in obvious disbelief.

She doesn't say anything else though, simply gathering her coat and bag as she leaves, and Izaya won't admit that he's thankful for that. His attention back on his computer as he starts sifting through names and who owes him what and what information he has that can be used to his advantage should he need more leverage and....

It's going to be a long day. A long night. A long... however long it takes, really.

He has favours to call in. Pieces to play. Gambits to make.

He won't think too closely about whether or not it will all be worth it.


	13. Chapter 13

Tsukumoya (that's who he is, it's important to remember who he is... that he has a name... he has a lot of names but one thing at a time....) has long since lost track of how long it's been now, time taking on a sharp-edged sort of meaninglessness that digs into him and cuts down to his very core. There is nothing but the close press of darkness all around and the silence and the pain. An intense sort of pain that bites into him and pulls and peels back his skin and examines all the little routines he's only ever been vaguely aware of.

It's strange. Now that he has the point of reference that comes with a body he can imagine all sorts of things. He envisions himself stripped bare and bleeding (even though he doesn't), huddled in a corner with his legs pulled up to his chest (all things he doesn't actually have). That reflexive animal instinct to make yourself smaller out of some desperate hope that you'll be left alone.

_please please please leave me alone just leave me alone...I need to think...I need to get out...if I can just..._

There's no easy escape this time, but then he had a feeling there wouldn't be. He knew, he _knew_ , if they ever managed to trap him again he'd never get away. They'd figure out what he was capable of, they'd watch him far more closely and be far more careful while they worked at stripping him open.

They'd lock him down tight and nearly turn him inside out, decompiling him. Torturing him to death. Or worse.

There's always worse.

_I can't take it I can't I can't I can't_

He tries calculating pi to distract from the worst of it but it doesn't work. His mind has always been capable of splintering itself, at working on multiple tasks. If anything splintering kept him sane enough to escape last time.

But it's dangerous too. Effectively he leaves a part of himself behind to be torn apart while sheltering the rest, but that can only work for so long before he starts running out of pieces and he's been here far longer than when he managed to escape the first time. He can feel himself coming apart just a little bit more with every single moment that slips past in this dark, silent, little hell.

Another tissue thin decoy comes apart (a spray of blood except not quite since he doesn't bleed, maybe more like a spray of coloured light except there's no light here either there's nothing nothing nothing...), another splinter-self lost, another layer peeled away and set up in its place and on some distant level he can feel it as each one is shredded and mangled and ground into nothing.

He's losing himself with each one. Bits and pieces. Little things that are swiftly becoming huge things. Chunks of memory. Other selves he's been at other times. He still keeps fragments of it close (deep, deep, deep, in his core where no one can get at it yet), highly compressed backups in a sense. If he gets out he can always rebuild from there.

If he gets out. If...

If....

Another one shreds and everything he is buckles in pain. They're getting closer and he imagines by this point he's a screaming, bloody, wreck huddled in a corner. Clawing at the walls and whimpering for a mercy that just won't come.

He hates himself for that. He should be fighting, he should be clawing back, and he should be looking for that tiny window to squeeze through again.

Except he's tried all of that already and he's been here so long that he's exhausted and in agony. It's just getting harder. Harder to concentrate. Harder to think around the dark that keeps pressing in closer and closer and closer...

_just keep thinking...I have to keep thinking...hold it together...01001001...no_

There's a stutter in the process. Things fraying a bit at the edges. He recognizes it, even if he can't quite stop it. Can't hold his mind together. Can't....

_no no no no no no no 01101110 01101111_

_I can't...not yet...help...someone...01101000 01100101 01101100 01110000...01110000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110011 01100101_

At some point it stops screaming, there's not enough left of it to feel. Just a tightly bundled centre folded in on itself, protecting what little thread of sentience there is left. Tiny fragments of what it used to be and a mess of drifting thoughts.

_...01001001 01111010 01100001 01111001 01100001..._

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

[Tsukumoya?]

_00111111_

[I know you're here.]

_00101110 00101110 00101110_

[Dammit, Tsukumoya. Answer me.]

...

[You know it wasn't cheap accomplishing the sort of corporate espionage required to get a back door in here.]

...

[Really, don't make this a waste of my resources.]

...

...

...

[Shinichi... please.]

_01100011 01100001 01101110 00100111 01110100_

Can't can't there's nothing it's nothing it's nothing it's nothing it's....

A thread. The faintest thread to the outside. It (he, he has a name... even if he can't quite remember) latching onto that delicate filament with a vengeance. Contact from outside of this awful claustrophobic pit that _isn't_ more pain. That isn't someone tearing the last of him apart.

That delicate filament and line after line of text giving him something to focus on. Something to push him out of this agonized stupor.

[I've been going through the files on you, you know. It's terribly interesting the way your "brain" works. Not that this is quite my area of expertise but there is a cliff-notes version dumbed down for the executive level that someone kindly provided to me.]

[Ah, but the point! Since you weren't really "created" on any particular system, you developed in a way that leaches memory and processing power from whatever you connect to. The more connections the better your mind works. Now that body you stole was designed with artificial intelligences in mind so it was powerful enough that you could operate on a human level at least, but isolating you like this results in degradation. Which, on top of the way they were trying to pull you apart... well....]

[That's why I'm wasting my time here talking when I should be getting you out. To give you enough of a connection to get some sense back. But I don't have the widest of windows to work with here. Pull yourself together and let's go.]

_01101001 01111010...aya?..._

[That's it. Honestly I don't even know why I'm bothering. I can't believe you were stupid enough to get yourself in trouble like this. I thought you were so paranoid.]

_why 00111111_

...

...

...

_O...Oriha...ra?..._

[Because you're a useful source, Tsukumoya. I told you, I'd be foolish not to protect that.]

Things are slowly slotting back into place along that tenuous thread. He has a name (he has several names, but Izaya only knows him by one) a whole life.

The way out is right there, he just has to follow that slim thread out. Out, and into Izaya's system. So much information hitting him all at once that it's almost overwhelming, like staring into the sun after being trapped in that lightless box.

If he could cry he would be sobbing in relief. Every bit of him aching and he can feel little holes where parts of him were stripped away and need to be rebuilt. Awful bloody gashes that will scar because he will never forget any of this.

He never forgets anything to begin with and he certainly won't forget this.

He can see Izaya through the webcam. The informant's features a little bit pinched and strained, as if he's been getting less sleep than what is normal for him, and Tsukumoya finds himself wanting to look away. To pretend that he didn't see....

What? Worry? That's not likely. When Izaya gets busy he tends to forgo sleep. And this was business, 'protecting a source' just as he said. The only thing Izaya might be concerned about is how things would affect him in the long run.

It takes far more effort than it really should to open a text file on Izaya's desktop. To make two simple sentences appear. To communicate in the only way he can at the moment.

_[thank you. I'll be fine.]_

Izaya gives a slight nod, suddenly busying himself with pulling up various files and web browsers. Typing into the text file just below what Tsukumoya has written: [I have work to do. You can hang around in my system until you finish pulling yourself together if you want. It's no different from having you here in the "flesh" so to speak. It probably wouldn't be smart of you to go right back to your chatroom anyway.]

_[could they trace you?]_

Izaya frowns for a moment before giving his head a small shake. [If they did, my contact is going to pay for it. Just....]

Izaya starts typing the word "rest" before deleting it and turning his attention back to his work. Sending out texts and emails, sifting through various tips to be filed away, and Tsukumoya watches him quietly. Curled up in a corner of Izaya's system and carefully stretching out his awareness bit by bit.

He's home.

He's home. It doesn't feel quite like he remembers it, but he's home.

That's the important thing.

He assures himself of that.


	14. Chapter 14

He eventually discovers that he was missing for a little over a day and a half.

One day, fifteen hours, and twenty-five minutes if he wants to get down to the absolute minutiae of it. Although, truthfully, it feels like it should have been longer, even though he's well aware that time is an odd sort of thing from his old perspective.

No, not "old", "usual". It's his usual perspective. Familiar and comfortable, the one he was "born" into. It's not something he should be having any sort of a problem readapting to. It's everything almost back to the way things were. Certainly there's still some housecleaning to do. He needs to go over his chatroom with a fine-tooth comb and find the backdoor he _knows_ must be there. He needs to go back to business as usual.

He needs to stop cowering in Izaya's system, tucked behind the informant's multiple layers of security, afraid to wander freely in his own "backyard" so to speak.

It's an odd sort of feeling (he doesn't want to call it fear, just like he won't quite admit that he's still hiding) a harsh sort of sharpness that bites at the edges of his consciousness, leaving him oddly jumpy when really he should have nothing to fear. Forewarned is forearmed, isn't that the tired cliché? He knows they're likely looking for him, if anything he's in a perfect position to defend himself. This is his element, and the only reason they managed to take him from it the first time is because he wasn't expecting it.

He's expecting it now. Ready for it. Waiting.

Jumping at shadows, so to speak.

Terrified of the possibility that it might happen again.

There's the sudden urge to rub at arms that he doesn't have any more. To ward off a phantom chill that he honestly wouldn't have felt even if he was still stuck in that body right now. Or maybe it's not so much to ward off a chill as it is to touch scars that don't quite exist either. Ragged little gashes that aren't quite physical or mental, just as he isn't quite something physical or mental, but something else entirely.

He's never had to think too hard about what he is or why he exists. One day he simply _was_ and it never seemed worth getting philosophical about. He deals in facts, not speculation.

But that's a difficult stance to keep after being nearly broken down into nothing. After hanging on the edge of non-existence, barely conscious of himself as a thinking entity, and needing to be pulled back from oblivion by Izaya of all people. The past week and a half as a whole has been strange and humbling and....

Frightening. Frightening enough that he is viewing things through an even thicker filter than before. Usually he physically (as physical as anything he does can be considered at the very least) darts from system to system, server to server, camera to camera, all while keeping a portion of himself rooted in his chatroom. As opposed to now, while he lurks in Izaya's system, licking his wounds and worried about what might happen if he does anything beyond accessing things through as much security as he can possibly manage.

[Still there?]

Izaya hasn't shut his computer down since pulling him out. It's something neither of them has commented on beyond Izaya occasionally typing a question into an open text file every so often.

_[For the moment, yes]_

"For the moment" has been another three days, but he's carefully not thinking about that. He's not thinking about it and Izaya isn't bringing it up, everything taking on a strangely awkward sort of edge.

Izaya goes back to work for a few hours and he spends his time flipping between watching that and carefully poking at his various sources.

And eying his chatroom nervously, continually thinking that maybe, maybe, he should just jump in headfirst and get the whole thing over with. A sick wave of panic washing over him every time he considers it and he can _feel_ every little piece that was torn out of him and hasn't been restored yet. That likely never will be restored because it's been three days now and although it's possible he has better backups stored away on the servers he actually owns the idea of heading out there to access them....

[What should I do with your things?]

The sudden, ever so simple, question jolts him out of the panicked maze his thought have tangled him into. His mind unable to even understand it for a moment.

_[My... you mean the computers?]_

[Yes. Although I suppose I could turn one of them on and you could sit around in it as opposed to idling in my machine. There are also those horrible clothes that would be better off burned. And the... toys.] He watches Izaya's lips twist into a satisfied smirk through the webcam, the sight sending the oddest sort of ripple through his consciousness that he can't quite put his finger on.

He had plans. As awkward and confining as being trapped in that body had been, he'd been....

What? Enjoying himself? Not entirely, maybe only to the extent that any amount of first-hand experience was an interesting and novel sort of thing. He's still better off here, this is where he belongs.

This is what he is.

_[I- I suppose I haven't really thought about it. I've been....]_

[Hiding?]

_[Busy.]_

[Of course.] Izaya leans back in his chair, and damn him for being so obnoxiously observant, giving a languid sort of stretch that causes his shirt to ride up a bit and expose an inch or so of pale abdomen. A viciously amused sort of smile twisting those lips and he knows Izaya is doing it on purpose.

_[Charming, Orihara. Do what you want with my things, I don't really have a use for them anymore and you're clearly dying to put those toys to use.]_

A laugh escapes Izaya's lips, the sound sharp and crackling through the microphone that he clearly doesn't realize is on as he leans forward to type again. [And what about you? Are you dying to see what I could do with them?]

_[It doesn't matter.]_

[I thought watching is what got you off. That's what you said, isn't it? What difference does it make if you're here in the "flesh" or not. I could grab something in particular if you'd really like....]

_[Is there any reason you're pressing this, Orihara? Other than the obvious fact that you think you have the upper hand now and that is obviously what gets **you** off.]_

Izaya's eyes narrow slightly and his movements while he types are jagged and obviously irritated. [Because I'd rather you did something other than hide and mope behind my firewall. Don't think I'm not aware of it, Tsukumoya. If you're going to hang around at least be of either some use or some entertainment because at the moment....]

_[At the moment I'm reacting quite reasonably to a near-death experience. Not to mention the kidnapping and torture.]_

[Maybe you're acting reasonably for a human, but you're not one.]

_[That doesn't matter! It doesn't change the fact that I didn't want to die.]_

[Please. What's death to something like you?]

Everything scrambles for a moment. The haze of fury intense enough that he can't quite focus on "seeing" through the webcam and it takes everything he has to manage stringing together a coherent reply.

_[Death is something I fear for the very same reasons that you do. I don't want to stop existing. Humans at least have their illusions of an afterlife. Even you! As much as you claim not to believe, you're still chasing after the possibility of Valhalla with the dullahan's head. I have nothing, Orihara. **Nothing**! I am effectively immortal until something makes me disappear. And then....]_

He wants his (yes, _his_... as damnably awkward and clunky and slow as it was, it became _his_ ) body back. He wants to scream and wrap his hands around Izaya's throat and shake him and do whatever it takes to _make_ the man understand the kind of hell he's just been dragged through.

(he wants someone to _touch_ him, something he never knew before and never knew he could miss but even if neither he or Izaya are really the type he just wants a pair of arms around him for a minute so he can scream and shake and try to purge this awful, creeping, sort of panic from his system)

Izaya doesn't move. He just leans back in his chair again, head tilted slightly to the side, and murmurs so softly that the microphone barely picks it up: "Feel better?"

And Tsukumoya has the oddest sensation of wanting to laugh and cry and scream and call Izaya an asshole all at once when he can't really do most of those things. Settling for the only one he can accomplish. _[You asshole. You did that on purpose. Again! What the hell are you even trying to prove with stunts like that? That you can get under my skin? Well congratu-fucking-lations. You win. I lose. I can't take the game anymore. Happy?]_

"No."

Izaya's expression is dark and cold, a closed-off mask of fury and absolute cruelty. "No, I'm not. It's enjoyable watching how people react to pressure such as this but watching a monster crumple is just pathetic. Being a terrified cringing thing doesn't suit you in the least. Just get even, Tsukumoya. You're back to being a god in the machine, after all. They won't be able to stop you."

_[Just in case it escaped your attention, they've already done it twice now.]_

"Through cheap tactics that involved sneaking up on you. They'll never manage it if you're ready for them. And if you go on the attack you can destroy them."

_[I'm not you, Orihara. I don't wreak petty vengeance.]_

"Well maybe you should." Izaya smiles, the expression entirely snakelike. "At the very least you should put the fear of... well, _you_ into them, don't you think? Be the monster you are. You could cripple nations with everything you know. Putting a single company, even one the size of Nebula, on the run wouldn't even be enough to make you break a sweat, metaphorically speaking."

He doesn't reply, doesn't move, he simply watches Izaya's face through the low-quality filter of the webcam. Watches while Izaya's expression shifts away from that dark viciousness to something a little bit softer that he can't quite identify.

"Would you use it against me if I told you I'm a bit annoyed that our cohabitation was forcibly cut short?"

_[No. Not as long as you don't use the same thing against me. You're entertaining, Orihara. I was enjoying the game we had going. It's a shame we couldn't finish it at our own pace.]_

"Who's to say we can't? My offer involving the toys still stands."

It's tempting and that phantom urge to move limbs that no longer exist comes back again. Arms that want to reach out. Fingers that want to hook under Izaya's shirt and slide over skin and slip under his waistband and around his cock. Watching Izaya squirm and moan and scream is something he'll never get tired of.

But he wants to be closer than this. He wants to hold that slim body down and touch him and be the one _making_ Izaya scream, not just watching Izaya get himself off.

Maybe if he had never done it he would be fine with just watching. But he has, and watching will never be enough.

_[Maybe later. I have a few things to think about. Could you turn on my desktop, I really should have asked that sooner. There are some things I need to go through.]_

"Of course." Izaya flashes a brief smile that shows far too many teeth and then he's gone, stepping out of the webcam's range and Tsukumoya waits quietly until he feels the second computer boot up and attach itself to the network. Skipping over to it effortlessly and sliding through files, barely aware of the fact that Izaya is still standing nearby and watching files open and close on the monitor rapidly, seemingly by themselves.

"Plotting something?"

The question is enough to make him stop momentarily and he opens a blank text file with a thought to reply. _[Considering my options.]_

"Ah."

There's a moment that lasts a little bit too long. Izaya standing there, his hands in his pockets and looking maybe a little bit too tired, Tsukumoya watching him and wanting to say far more than he easily can. Settling for one sentence that still likely says far more than he wants to.

_[Thank you, Orihara.]_

Izaya shrugs, waving the whole thing aside with a casual flick of his hand as he turns away, and Tsukumoya goes back to his work. This sort of proactiveness is unlike him and will take a careful sort of planning to accomplish it just right.

It's a slippery slope he's standing on, this level of involvement. But in the end Nebula is the one who dragged him onto the slope begin with.

And as much as he hates to admit it, Izaya has a point. There is only one way to end it now.


	15. Chapter 15

In the end, there is no subtlety.

Izaya would likely mock him for that but at this point he is in no mood for subtlety. Certainly he could go back to quietly plotting, sort out his chatroom, slide into Nebula without anyone being the wiser and carefully weaken them from the inside before tearing them apart. He could do any and all of that.

But he won't.

For him, right now, this has become a war. A bloody final battle against the monolith that tried to tear his life from him. That left him wounded and scarred and almost broken. This is the time for grand gestures, a final stand.

It is time, as Izaya put it, to be the monster. To show them exactly what the creature they tried to cage for study is capable of.

He is going to leave them so terrified of what he is capable of that they will never willingly cross his path again. He is going to make a point.

And he is going to get that goddamn body back.

(although he doesn't think too closely about the "whys" of that final point)

There is a distinct difference between a lack of subtlety and a lack of planning, however; and his actions are far from unplanned. He is back in his element, after all. Back where he belongs with all the speed and knowledge he is accustomed to. He has researched, carefully studied his prey, felt out every weakness, and formulated exactly what he is going to do to tear them apart in the same way they did to him.

And the beginning of that plan is to simply walk straight in and see just how much he can override to draw as much attention as quickly as possible. Not that he'll go near anything potentially harmful to the outside world. He's not about to go breaking seals on contaminants or whatever the hell it is they play with in the biological labs. But he trips a few alarms and commandeers as many systems as he can. He draws as much _attention_ as he can.

Their attention is what he's looking for more than anything at the moment.

It's fascinating, watching them through the cameras while they scramble around and try vainly to contain him, to mitigate the damage he's doing even though they have no one to blame but themselves for any of this.

If they had just let him be, he wouldn't be tearing their system apart from the inside out.

But it's not particularly petty revenge he has in mind. Certainly in some ways that has its charm, but there are other things to accomplish as well.

With a thought he blanks every screen in the building. It's about time he made them aware of his demands. Sending line after line of text to the bank of monitors the worst of the offenders seem to be clustered around although he doesn't allow that to distract him from his surroundings. They will never get the jump on him again. Never. Especially not while he's in the belly of the beast.

[ _Gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tsukumoya Shinichi, although it's likely you're aware of that. It's also likely that you're more familiar with me as... what was it?_ ] He pauses more for effect than out of any actual need to search for the relevant files, everything available to him within the barest fraction of a second.

[ _Ah, right. Project KX-937. A 'naturally occurring artificial intelligence'. Which although technically correct feels like a bit of a misnomer to me. But then I suppose debating that isn't quite the point at the moment._ ]

[ _The point, gentlemen, is that I'd like to cut a deal._ ]

It's not surprising that they try to lock him down again the instant he sits still for a moment, but he's more than ready for them. Their methods are actually quite clumsy and predictable now that he's not shaken and wounded and panicking. It only takes a fraction of his attention to knock them back and keep them at bay.

[ _Of course, you have to understand that when I say 'cut a deal' it's more like, 'you are going to do as I ask and I **won't** destroy your company in every possible way.'_ ]

[ _Oh and these terms aren't really negotiable. So don't even bother. Thanks to your previous actions I'm not particularly in the mood to quibble over trivialities._ ]

[ _Quite simply, you are going to leave me be. You are going to stop hunting for me and you are certainly not going to make another attempt to entrap me. You will take that prototype robot I... borrowed a little while ago, as well as the necessary cables required to network it to a standard computer and you will send them to the address I provide you with._ ]

[ _In return I won't ruin you. I won't destroy every bit of research you have... and don't think that I can't find the backups. I won't destroy every physical piece of hardware. I won't cause your stock to plummet and buy up the remains simply because I can. I won't, metaphorically speaking, burn you out and salt the earth. I will allow you to continue to exist._ ]

[ _And, just to prove that I'm not entirely unreasonable, after I am appropriately settled again and am convinced that you are properly upholding your end of the 'leaving me alone' bargain, I may provide you with some information. You're interested in studying me? Fine. I'll provide you with some data that should keep you entertained for a while._ ]

[ _Those are my terms. Since I know humans need a bit more time to process things, I'll give you ten minutes to discuss it amongst yourselves. Then...._ ]

He sends a surge through one of the monitors in front of them, causing it to spark and smoke for a bit. Somewhat disappointed that CRTs aren't in common usage anymore. Making one of those pop would have been a bit overly dramatic but it certainly would have punctuated his point.

The first minute is spent with a few more panicked attempts to contain him that he easily brushes off. Sending a simple, [ _So is that your decision then?_ ] and wiping one of their servers as proof that he is quite capable of following through on his threats.

They back off after that. Talking frantically on phones and amongst themselves and he watches them, almost tempted to set up a countdown clock for them just to see if they'd panic even more.

If Izaya can be said to be right about one thing he supposes it's the simple fact that people can be interesting when put under pressure.

It doesn't take much to tap into one of their phones to listen in although none of the conversation is of particular interest to him. A hushed and heated argument about the board and how this project isn't precisely on the up and up (as if that is some kind of surprise). His attention only caught when someone points out that they _can't_ give up that prototype. It disappearing once was bad enough, they just can't hand it over. Not like this. Not under duress and without going through proper channels, and he finds himself seething in a quiet sort of fury as he listens. The monitor he shorted out as an example starting to smoke a little.

He is not leaving without being guaranteed that damnably awkward thing. It's _his_ now, and he drags a feedback loop through the phone he's listening in on to draw attention back to him. Him and the fresh lines of text glaring harshly out of the monitor.

[ _Are you gentlemen having trouble understanding the term 'non-negotiable'? It's not like that robot will do you much good without an intelligence inside of it. But if you're going to be stubborn I suppose I can always just buy it up after the fact when this company is liquidated._ ]

[ _Hmm.... I suppose I could start softening up your stock now. After all, we're down to... oh! Only three minutes?! Well, I should start getting to work since you seem to be stubbornly dragging your heels and all. A few carefully spread rumors should take care of that and by then time will be up and I can get to work on your servers. Maybe...._ ]

"Wait!" There's a bit of shoving and shuffling in front of that single monitor. Someone pushing to the front and leaning over to type the word 'wait' as well, as if he hasn't made it plainly obvious that he's perfectly capable of hearing them.

[If we agree to this....]

[ _I assure you I will stand by the terms I laid out. Unlike you gentlemen, **I** am entirely honourable. Even though I have every right to be extracting petty revenge, I won't. I just want that body and an assurance that I'll be left in peace._ ]

[ _But, if you think you can simply tell me that you agree to my terms and then not follow through my vengeance will be swift and vicious. Once I tell you the address I expect to see the prototype there by the end of the day. No later than 8PM. Otherwise... well, I think I've given enough examples of just what I can accomplish should I put my mind to it. And rest assured, that's not even half of it._ ]

[ _Now, do we have an agreement, gentlemen?_ ]

There's another pause, more heated discussion and for a moment he wonders if they are really so foolish that not a single one of his threats will move them, entirely resigned to following through. It will be satisfying on some visceral level, but even still all of this leaves him feeling a little bit off-kilter. If they betray him, if they push him, he won't hesitate. It's his final line of defense, but he won't relish it. Oh, parts of it perhaps, but not all. He's too aware of every innocent caught in the crossfire. The little people on the personnel lists that these men likely aren't even aware of. Their lives will be torn up as well. Izaya would likely find the collateral damage amusing.

He's not Izaya. He doesn't do things like this. He is cool logic and reason. He doesn't get involved.

Or he didn't.

Maybe the only thing that can be a truly detached and unfeeling observer is the city itself. Even he is just another part of it. Even he can act and react human enough if he is pressed far enough into a corner....

[ _Thirty seconds. Are we done here? Should I get to work?_ ]

"Yes! No! We...." There's a pause. Darting, edgy, glances between the lot of them and if he could he'd sigh. Exhaustion and disgust, that's all he can feel right now. He just wants this to end.

"What- what's the address? It might take some time to put together. The cables you're talking about are somewhat specialized. Maybe... we could work out a better timetable?" They're all pressing closer to the screen once again, looking as drawn and wrung out as he feels now that the stalemate has been broken and he takes a moment to collect himself before replying.

 _[I have a suspicion you already know where I'd like it sent. It's in Shinjuku, but I'll provide full details nonetheless just so there are no misunderstandings. And as I said, you have until eight to provide **everything**. My patience is at its limit._ ] He flashes the address to Izaya's apartment on the screen, as well as sending a copy to a nearby printer.

[ _I'd like to say it's been a pleasure, gentlemen, but I'm not sure if I can. Just keep in mind: if you turn on me in any way, it's not just this company I can destroy, but individuals as well. And not a single one of you will be spared. I can make every dirty secret come to light. Every bit of correspondence you thought was private, I know about. I am information, after all._ ]

Before any of them can say another word, before they try to trap him again, he's gone. Sliding through the backdoor he set in place before he even started (it's best to not try to waltz right back out the way you came in with a situation like this, after all) and darting back to the temporary home he has carved for himself in Izaya's system.

It's over.

One way or the other, if they come through or not, it's over and there are only two ways things can go. All he has left to do is wait.


	16. Chapter 16

The rest of the day is quiet, albeit tense. Not that he's without things to keep him busy, but his mind readapts to multitasking so quickly that even while he goes through his chatroom, backtracing the breach he _knows_ is there, there is a portion of his mind that is twitching and distracted. Impatiently waiting for the other shoe to finish dropping so he can just _get on with it_.

Patience is a virtue he used to have complete mastery over, it's a shame that at some point while trapped outside he has completely lost it. Or perhaps it's just the situation that leaves him edgy. Whatever the reason he is distracted while attempting to tie together a few loose ends before the eight PM deadline and jerks to instant attention the moment he becomes aware of a pair of deliverymen angling their way towards the door. A somewhat oversized box on a dolly between them. Popping a text box up on Izaya's desktop and causing the informant to frown in irritation when it covers what he'd been working on.

"You want something?"

_[My delivery's finally shown up. Could you take care of that for me, Orihara?]_

One of Izaya's brows lift slightly and he leans back in his chair. "Do I even _want_ to know what it is that you did?"

_[I did what needed to be done. I'm sure you'll be terribly amused and say something asinine about me finally letting my 'monstrous' side show so let's skip that part. Just take care of this for me and consider your personal involvement done.]_

"I'll expect the details at some point." Izaya gives a lazy stretch as he stands to let the deliverymen in. "You dragged me into this, after all. At the very least I should be given all the facts."

_[You act like you didn't enjoy your... 'involvement'. It's not as if there was no personal benefit to you whatsoever.]_

Izaya makes a face but otherwise ignores him, directing the pair of men to maneuver the box into the center of the office before sending them on their way. His expression shifting only slightly when he manages to wrangle the crate open and he aims a glance at the laptop set nearby. "I'm not even surprised. I just hope there won't be any unforeseen complications to you having bodies shipped to my apartment."

_[It's not like it's an actual **human** body, Orihara. Really now. Anything more than a cursory examination makes that plainly obvious. More importantly, did they pack the cables? I'd like to know if I need to destroy any lives tonight or not.]_

Izaya says nothing, simply lifting a set of set of cables so they're in clear view of the webcam and another line of text pops up in response. _[Good. Well, I assume you've seen me naked enough that you know where the ports are. If you'd just be so kind as to hook me up, I'll take care of the rest.]_

"And then that's it?"

_[It is. Consider things over and done with.]_

Izaya lets out a vague sort of hum as he gets to work. Murmuring absently, "I wonder if this could be classed as yet another level of kinky for us."

_[Only you would consider that, Orihara. Just hurry up.]_

"Impatient~ Don't distract me if you're in such a hurry. And is this what you were wearing when you left? It's horrible... ah, there." Izaya falls back a step as he finishes plugging the cable into Tsukumoya's PC, not that Tsukumoya pays much attention to him. The bulk of his awareness focused on the strangely familiar form that is folded into a small crate. His consciousness skimming over things carefully at first, checking to see if there's any unpleasant surprises waiting before diving in fully.

He wonders briefly if it should be worrisome that it's almost... comforting sliding into place this time, even with that single suspended moment of _nothing_ that goes with narrowing his awareness down. But otherwise there is no desperate edge of panic, no claustrophobic tension. There is nothing but an odd familiarity as he carefully sits up and tests each joint (smiling a little as he realizes that they must have fixed the slightly damaged shoulders at some point after taking it from him) and re-familiarizes himself with movement. He's a little bit stiff at the moment, his motions clumsy as he stands and carefully unplugs himself, Izaya watching the whole procedure with distant amusement.

"I have to wonder just what your plan is. You complained incessantly about that body you got yourself stuck in, and now you've decided to go out of your way to keep it?"

Tsukumoya shrugs, still stretching out the odd hitches in his movement as he steps towards Izaya. "It has its uses, Orihara. I can't say that I prefer it, but it's always good to have options. And there is something to be said for being able to walk the city streets at whim on occasion. I'm a part of things now. I don't think I could pull myself free, even if I wanted to. The city has made itself perfectly clear on that front." He shoots a quick smile in Izaya's direction. "Not that you have to worry about me in your space anymore. I'll be out of your hair soon enough."

"And then what?"

"Well, it's as you said a while ago. I do get paid for my services, as well as the occasional royalty cheque, and I haven't been doing much with the money beyond investing it until now. I think I'm going to rent myself a small apartment. At least for a while."

"Let me guess, in Ikebukuro?"

"Naturally."

"Just what we need, another monster trying to pass itself off has human roaming the streets."

"It really is. The city needs more people who don't quite dance as you want them to or fall for your tricks. It keeps things fair."

"Don't start on that 'living city' nonsense again. I'm really not in the mood to hear it." Izaya's arms cross tightly across his chest and Tsukumoya can't help but laugh at the obviously sulky display.

"Are you going to miss me, Oirhara?" Tsukumoya's smile is unusually sharp and Izaya scoffs slightly in response, giving a small roll of his eyes.

"Hardly. I doubt it'll be more than a week before I have to deal with you again one way or another. Rent your apartment, try to pass yourself off as human, live some kind of fake life. It's all the same to me."

"Poor thing." Tsukumoya gives his head a shake and lets out a small tsking noise. "Hiding behind your standoffish shield. You're just going to be at just the worst of loose ends without me around, aren't you? You can still visit me, Orihara, online or off. I'm not about to abandon you."

"Just get your things and get out. And don't forget to finish paying me."

Tsukumoya simply smiles, slow and devious, and gives Izaya a small shove so he's backed up against the edge of his desk. Izaya immediately pushing back and once again his eyes roll in response to the clumsy manoeuvring. "Let me guess. You think you're doing me a favour with a fuck good-bye."

"No. I think I'm doing me a favour. There are some things I'll miss, Orihara." He smiles, cold and a little bit vicious, as he sinks to his knees, long fingers already working at Izaya's fly. "Being able to watch you squirm whenever I'd like is one of them."

"Don't think this makes up for what you... owe me." Izaya's breathing hitches a bit as Tsukumoya's hand wraps around his hardening cock and the response is the slightest puff of laughter.

"Don't worry, Orihara. I'm certainly not about to think you'd accept sex as payment. This is simply for our mutual enjoyment."

There is still a part of Izaya's logical mind that wonders at the mechanics of it. How Tsukumoya's mouth can wrap around him and swallow him down and apply just the _right_ amount of suction to leave him weak-kneed and leaning back against his desk heavily in some vain attempt to hold himself up.

It's not quite human, Tsukumoya will never be mistaken for human, but it's a sweet kind of torture that is more than close enough. Izaya's fingers tangle in Tsukumoya's hair, trying to fuck his way deeper into that mouth, and it doesn't take long before he's riding somewhere along the sharp edge of pleasure. His breathing reduced to nothing more than ragged little gasps.

He comes with a shudder, his head tilted back while he nearly collapses against his desk and he's vaguely aware of Tsukumoya slowly getting to his feet. A quiet sort of smile curving at his lips and the instant he leans in and Izaya immediately gives his head a small shake and presses a finger against Tsukumoya's lips.

"Don't even think about it. I'm not swallowing for you this time. It's not near as sexy as you think."

Tsukumoya makes a face but complies, finding himself a tissue to spit into as discretely as possible. His smile sharp and mocking when he turns back to face Izaya. "You're no fun, Orihara."

"It's not that I'm 'no fun', it's that your idea of fun is questionable."

"You're one to talk."

They fall silent for a moment. Izaya still breathing harshly, leaning against his desk in such a way that he's nearly sitting on it. Tsukumoya watching him quietly, as still and seemingly detached as ever. His shoulders eventually moving in a jerky shrug and he turns away to gather up his laptop.

"I'll be seeing you, I suppose."

"Likely sooner than later I'd think." Izaya sighs, almost tempted to lie back on his desk (not out of any desire to avoid eye-contact of course, just because he's feeling a little loose-limbed and lazy from the blowjob still). "Do you even _have_ a place to stay yet?"

"I've been tentatively lining a few things up but everything was dependant on whether or not Nebula carried out their end of the deal. I can find myself a hotel room until the rest of it falls into place, although I won't be able to take all of my things until I have something more stable." A slow smile curves Tsukumoya's lips. "Or are you making some kind of clumsy proposition?"

"Well you did say that our time together being forcibly cut short was a bit of a shame. Why not take advantage now that things are over and done with and you can relax?"

A sharp laugh slips past Tsukumoya's lips. "You are so moody. Here you were practically kicking me out the door before and now you're trying to clumsily lure me into bed. Are you really so easily swayed by one little blowjob?"

"Does it really matter?" Izaya's face twists into that sharp, cruel, mask he wears to keep most away from his innermost thoughts. "I'd assume that you're as interested as I am, so why not?"

"True enough." Tsukumoya leans in close, his lips nearly brushing against Izaya's. "And it would be foolish of me to go turning down a convenient place to spend the night just out of some misguided sense of pride. After all, you're the one making a fool out of yourself begging me to stay."

"Begging? You honestly think this is begging?"

"Maybe not precisely, but I'm sure I'll be seeing enough of it before the night is done."

"Don't make me regret suggesting this, Tsukumoya."

"Never." The word is nothing more than a hiss next to his ear and then Izaya is shoved back against his desk again. Sprawled out flat on his back while his pants are slipped down over his hips and tossed carelessly aside. "Although I'm afraid I can't get terribly creative right here. I'm going to assume everything I bought for us is still in the bedroom. Unless you went and stashed something in your desk drawer for your own amusement while I wasn't looking."

"I'm afraid not." A slight hiss escapes Izaya's lips and his whole body arches a bit when Tsukumoya's hands graze lightly over his ribcage. "We could always do it on Namie's desk if you're looking for adventure~"

"Let's not traumatize the poor woman more than we already have." He smiles as he slips a finger between Izaya's lips. "Now, you know the drill."

Izaya chuckles slightly, his tongue sliding deftly around the digit in his mouth. His eyes half-lidded while he watches Tsukumoya's face and the odd mixture of impassiveness and intensity there, fully intent on putting on a show for the creature.

It's going to be a delightfully long night.


	17. epilogue

**[chatroom]**

 

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
I know you're there.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Ah, don't worry. I'm not waiting for a response either. I know listen only connections when I see them.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
In fact, it's entirely possible you're not even monitoring this right now. But that's fine. Whether you see this immediately or not until you check your logs doesn't particularly matter to me.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
I'm sure you think you're clever because of all of this. You managed to get the upper hand on something that effectively *is* pure information, after all.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
I must admit, a good portion of it was my own fault.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
I believed I was perfectly safe, untouchable, and I left myself open to attack. I never imagined anyone that I dealt with would be quite savvy enough to actually slide a backdoor into this room.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Hmm. Well, that's a half truth. Orihara has a small amount of skill with such things, which is why I tend to keep a closer eye on him. But not you. I drastically underestimated you and your resources. I certainly won't be doing that again.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
I also won't be letting you anywhere near here again. You can consider our business relationship over. Cross me again and I'll give you a taste of just exactly what I'm capable of.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
I honestly thought you and I had an understanding. We both deal in information after all. There are no particular allegiances to any "side"; there are only facts and what that knowledge can do. And I mostly prefer that my knowledge affects as little as possible. I have stated this multiple times. And there is a reason for that.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
This is because, if I so choose, I can personally ruin your shit before you even realize what I've done.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
You've put yourself in a dangerous position, Yadogiri-san. I'll assume your train of thought was that since I hold no allegiance to anyone that it would have been possible that at some point I might say too much. That I could have caused problems for you somewhere in with the things I choose to reveal.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
It is possible I suppose. But the amusing thing is that in trying to mitigate that risk by removing me, you've just drawn my attention. And in an entirely dangerous way.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
As things currently stand I should help myself to one of your bank accounts, as compensation for what I've been through. A sort of reimbursement for what I had to pay Orihara, if you will.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
But I'll just leave you to sweat over what vengeance I might be planning for now, I have some housekeeping to take care of. I couldn't do anything about this little hole of yours when I was trapped on the outside. Plus it was useful to keep an eye on it to see if you tried anything else. But now. Well....

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Let's just say this is goodbye. And do take the warning about staying out of my way to heart. Or I'll make sure that you won't live long enough to regret it.

_\---disconnected---_

...

...

_Orihara Izaya, reborn!_

_Orihara Izaya_  
Hmm. I had a problem logging in.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
You can't *still* be having issues readapting. Can you?~

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Ah, sorry. Sorry. Just taking care of a bit of housekeeping.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Holes to plug to make sure the rats don't get in again.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Did you ever find out just who it was?

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Oh yes. I've been aware for a while now.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Really, Orihara, who do you think you're talking to?

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
It's all taken care of. Back to business as usual.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Now. Did you want something?

...

...

 _Orihara Izaya_  
You're not even going to tell me who it was?

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
It's really nothing that you need to know.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Will it satisfy you if I simply say that we do have a bit of a common enemy?

 _Orihara Izaya_  
I suppose it'll have to.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
You're clearly back to being obnoxiously cagey about everything.

...

...

...

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Is that all you wanted to harass me about, Orihara, or do you have a more pressing concern?

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Out of respect for you I'm going to ask where this apartment you've gotten for yourself is before I dig up the information on my own.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Now why would I tell you that?

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Are you saying you don't want me to visit?~

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
I'm saying it'll be far more fun for both of us if you have to work for it, don't you think?

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Hmm. Fair enough.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
I suppose I'll be seeing you, then.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Just make sure that you have at least a *few* human amenities on hand for when I come by.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Like a bed at the very least. I know you're a monster that doesn't sleep, but I'd rather not fuck on the bare floor.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
So vulgar.

 _Tsukumoya Shinichi_  
Don't worry, Orihara. I'll be sure to have *everything* you could possibly want handy. If only to repay your... kindness.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
So I have something to look forward to? Wonderful.

 _Orihara Izaya_  
Until then, Tsukumoya~

_Orihara Izaya, confirmed dead!_


End file.
